


Slope

by darienqmk



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darienqmk/pseuds/darienqmk
Summary: James Robinson is a boy who lives in Canberra. As of late December, 2010, Canberra seems like a peaceful enough place to live. Of course, peace never lasts, and Canberra is no exception.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Welcome to Australia

The classroom clock ticked around to 3:56, and the teacher stood up. “Alright, well,” he began, then paused. His usual grin was instead replaced with a bit of a forlorn smile. “I suppose this is goodbye, isn’t it?”  
  
  
James didn’t react, though some of the more talkative students groaned in protest. It was a shame, honestly, because Glen was a pretty good teacher, and likeable, too. Beside him, Liv breathed out heavily through her nose. James glanced at her, and his eyes flickered back to Glen, who was in the process of turning off the video of _Twelfth Night_. Honestly, James wasn’t entirely sure if he’d liked Shakespeare until this semester whereupon Glen animatedly sucked him into the world of poetry and plays, and Stephen Fry played Malvolio.  
  
  
“But have a good break, everyone. If you do have any questions on how to spend your break because you’re all a little less _hip_ than me, then you can send me an e-mail and I won’t respond because I’ll be on vacation.” He smirked as the class giggled. “Alright, you lot. Get outta here. And stay safe!”  
  
  
James stood up, and he shouldered his bag, examining nonexistent problems almost subconsciously as he allowed time for Liv to finish up. She grinned at him and James smiled back, and the two of them followed the crowd outside. English was one of the few classes James shared with Liv, and it was to be treasured - shame it had ended, though.  
  
  
“So,” Liv said. “School’s out, huh?”  
  
  
“It is.”  
  
  
“I feel like I’ve already asked you this, but what are you going to do in the holidays?”  
  
  
James smiled. “You have. And it’s still the same - I need to work.”  
  
  
In a manner of speaking. It certainly could be rewarding sometimes.  
  
  
“Heh. Yeah, me too. Now that school’s done they’ll stick me in for, like, forty hours a week. Minimum.”  
  
  
“That’s crazy,” James said, as he’d said many times before and thought even more times than that. “They shouldn’t be forcing you to do that.”  
  
  
Liv sighed. “Can’t be helped, really. We’re just really understaffed, you know? And it takes time to train a newbie, as well.”  
  
  
James shook his head. He didn’t understand why Liv would choose to work there, for so long. The pay wasn’t actually half bad, but it was still much better to be freelance, like James was. The rest of their walk was continued in silence, and one that James disliked; in no more than twenty-five seconds, he and Liv would go their separate ways and, without school next week, it might be a while until he could see Liv again.  
  
  
“Alright, time to go.” Liv turned to him, smiling. “You have to text me, okay? We need to meet up during the summer sometime. Do stuff together.”  
  
  
“I’d like that,” James said honestly.  
  
  
James allowed Liv to throw her arms around him (and he deeply inhaled the scent of her hair) and patted her back. She beamed up at him as she took a step back. She got her mum to pick her up, always, in their sleek black Mercedes sedan, and she jogged across the street, making sure she didn’t get hit by any of the school buses, and hopped inside, throwing her backpack in the rear seats. James sighed through his nose, and then began to walk towards the parking lot.  
  
  
“Oi, James.”  
  
  
James turned around and smiled a slight smile as he saw his mate, Rhys, approach. His lips were twisted into a smirk and his baby blues twinkled mischievously. “You can’t get over her, can you?”  
  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
  
“Just ask her out already.”  
  
  
The two of them walked to the parking lots, where Rhys’ piece of shit BMW was waiting for them. It was from… 1998, or something? It would’ve run just fine if the previous owner wasn’t a stereotypical road-raging dickhead that so often seemed to purchase BMWs, and run the car ragged. James wasn’t the fondest of the fucked-up shocks in the car, but it sure as hell beat catching the bus and walking ten minutes from the stop. Especially since Rhys lived just down the street.  
  
  
“Does she know you like her? She must, right?”  
  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
  
“You should tell her. Just in case.”  
  
  
“And if she doesn’t like me back in that way? I’d rather not ruin our friendship because I flew too close to the sun.”  
  
  
“Stop being poetic and shit, this is just you not being able to get over your crush since, what, year six?” Rhys laughed as he backed out his car. He fumbled with the gearstick. “You realize she spends the most time with you than with all her female friends, right?”  
  
  
James blinked. “Seriously?”  
  
  
“Mhm. You’d have noticed if you weren’t staring somewhere else all the time.” He gestured around his torso. James turned red despite himself.  
  
  
“Anyway. Plans for the near future?” James asked, looking out the window to conceal his blush. Rhys smirked as if he knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
  
“Oh, dunno. Probably end up working. I don’t have much at home, so…”  
  
  
James knew well enough what Rhys’ home situation was like. It was why they were best friends, not keeping even the smallest secrets from each other. Both households were ragged, though different in their own ways. He stared out the window and watched trees and bushes and parked cars fly by his sight - seriously, Rhys needed to slow the fuck down. You’d think the huge dent on his front bumper would’ve taught him something, but Rhys did sometimes lack an instinct of self-preservation.  
  
  
Again, similar to James himself, if he were honest.  
  
  
Rhys fucked up the gear change again and James winced; he himself didn’t even drive a manual and even he could tell that wasn’t how you were supposed to do it. The National Library whizzed past Rhys’ side of the car, and he, instead of slowing, sped up as they rounded the ramp onto the bridge that took them over the man-made Lake Burley-Griffin. Piece of shit lake, honestly. They should’ve made it as pretty as that… what’s it called, in Canada? Abraham Lake or whatever. Burley-Griffin was just… brown. And it didn’t help with all the drunks throwing their rubbish into the lake every Friday or Saturday night, too.  
  
  
It took another fifteen minutes going north since crossing the bridge (at least, if one traveled as fast as Rhys preferred to travel) to get back to their neighborhood. They began rolling off the main road, towards the newly constructed apartment blocks. Well, not _new_ , but only about a decade old. Being a fairly large and empty country, Australia was a good place for Endbringer refugees to start anew. Although, maybe for that exact reason, not as good as people believed.  
  
  
Graffiti. Gang tags. Police presence was fairly heavy in this region, even if it was nowhere near as bad as, say, Fyshwick and Queanbeyan, on the south side of the city. That place was the Red Baron’s stronghold, and the Baron wasn’t known for being subtle. Anyway - the region they lived in was much safer than all the way south, but that still didn’t mean it was entirely safe. People walking out at night probably had capsicum spray in their pocket or maybe a knife. Not so many guns, though. This wasn’t America, and it certainly wasn’t the countryside either.  
  
  
“Hey,” James called, and Rhys glanced at him. James jabbed a finger at the window, shielding his eyes with his other hand. Rhys leaned in his direction and scowled.  
  
  
“Not even fucking nighttime,” Rhys muttered under his breath, and parked the car. They unbuckled their seatbelts, and Rhys pulled out a cricket bat from his backseat, and they left the car.  
  
  
They approached the pair, the terrified woman on the ground, and the two men leering down at her. Rhys approached, and in such a time, James truly appreciated his friend; seventeen years old and already taller than most adults at six foot even, on the track and field team for hammer-throw. Of course, that wasn’t to say James was a slouch, either - he got plenty of exercise in his freelance work, and even his fairly average 5’9” frame was heavy with muscle. Rhys got the attention of the two white men by slapping his bat in to his hand.  
  
  
“Hey, boys,” Rhys called out mockingly. Confident. “Having a little fun?”  
  
  
The men eyed the bat warily. In the right hands, it usually meant broken arms and cracked skulls. Maybe both, but at least one was mildly buzzed. He turned the knife, which he’d been pointing at the woman, at Rhys and made stabbing gestures. “Fuck off, and you might not get shanked.” Words were slightly slurred. Definitely drunk.  
  
  
That didn’t really make James feel all that sorry for what he was going to do, though.  
  
  
Rhys shook his head and stepped forward, smacking the tip of the bat against the concrete. The men were obviously unnerved by Rhys’ lack of fear. James didn’t feel any fear either. He’d seen a lot of shit. He’d been desensitized to it, really, even moreso than Rhys. He stepped forward, tossing his neck from side to side and releasing loud crackling noises with each movement.  
  
  
“I’m warning you. Fuck off,” Rhys growled.  
  
  
The sober one hesitated, and began to back away. His friend was not as smart. He charged at Rhys, aiming to gut him. Rhys waited, and swung the bat as hard as it could at the man’s hand. It struck his wrist instead, but the effect was similar enough - he howled in pain and dropped the knife as his hand suddenly stopped working. Rhys wasn’t sympathetic. He swung the bat again, cracking it over his shoulder, and the man stumbled and fell.  
  
  
“Take your _friend_ outta here,” he said, spitting off to the side. The sober one nodded slowly, and approached his angrily cursing friend and dragged him off the scene. James turned to the woman, who was staring at them, uncertain what to even think of them.  
  
  
“You hurt?” James asked as softly as he could. Olivia, he was not.  
  
  
“N-no,” she stuttered.  
  
  
“Hey, it’s alright. We’re not going to hurt you,” Rhys said with a charming smile, giving her plenty of space to recover. James smiled as well, nodded, and took a step back from her. She shakily got back onto her feet, smoothed out her black business skirt, and licked her lips.  
  
  
“Thank you,” she said. “Both of you. H-here. For your help.”  
  
  
James backed off slightly, hands in the air, as she tried to offer them maybe seventy bucks in cash. “Hey, we didn’t help for your money. We helped for your safety, alright?”  
  
  
The woman, probably Vietnamese, nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to either of them. “Okay. Then thank you. Thank you so much.”  
  
  
“It’s alright. You want us to give you a lift home?”  
  
  
“No, I’ll be fine. I was just surprised this time, I suppose.” She showed them a can of mace that she was carrying in her handbag. “I won’t be next time. But thanks for offering.”  
  
  
“You’re alright. James, let’s go.” James nodded to the woman one last time and followed Rhys back into the car. As he hopped in, Rhys was smiling a little. “It feels nice to know you’ve helped someone.”  
  
  
“Mm.”  
  
  
“Don’t really feel it much anymore? Have you saved too many people in your nighttime job for one more person to really make a difference anymore?” Rhys teased. James rolled his eyes and made sure Rhys could see it.  
  
  
“Nah. It’s just… there are so many other ways to help, you know. You could donate to the Red Cross or something. Or ask how they’re doing, not just as a greeting but actually asking, you know?” James crossed his arms. “But everyone’s focused on the flashy violence. It makes me sick, sometimes, even when I’m on the job.”  
  
  
Rhys was silent for a moment as they pulled into their street. “Alright,” he said finally, and turned to James, smirking. “Get the fuck out of my car.”  
  
  
James snorted and grabbed the strap of his backpack, and opened the door. “Cheers for the ride, Rhys. See you soon?”  
  
  
“No problem, and yeah,” Rhys said with a smile, not a smirk. He gave a two-fingered salute. “See ya, James.”  
  
  
“See you.” Rhys’ car drove off, and went around the bend, disappearing him from sight.  
  
  
James walked into the apartment, punching in the relevant numbers and the door unlocked with a slight whirring noise. He walked up to the third floor, dragging his feet. He jingled his keys as he removed them from his pocket, connected to one of his belt loops with a carabiner clip. He stuck it in, jiggled, and threw the door open.  
  
  
Home sweet home.  
  
  
A narrow corridor dominated his sight. At the far end, it would spread wider into a living room-slash-dining room to the right, and a kitchen to the left. He stepped in, taking off his shoes and sticking them inside the shoe rack. To his immediate left was his bedroom, and his immediate right the master bedroom. He tossed his bag through the left entrance as he walked towards the kitchen. Next to his bedroom was the bathroom, and he entered that room briefly to wash his hands before resuming his journey to the kitchen.  
  
  
He reached up and plucked out a half-filled packet of biscuits which he munched on as he booted up his computer. He was kinda rich now, and he’d only been at this job for… oh, what, five months? He began dicking around on the Internet, spending some time first on PHO and then YouTube. Another page had Facebook open. He could’ve just used his phone to talk to his friends via Facebook, but that would be completely wasting his mechanical keyboard. Experimentally, he used his index finger to slowly depress the ‘J’ key, which he’d picked at random. It clicked satisfyingly. _Simply divine_.  
  
  
He continued to spend an hour browsing various websites on the Internet, until he realized something.  
  
  
 _...damn.  
  
  
I’m so fucking bored._  
  
  
He scowled. His hands were itchy. He needed to hit the streets, beat up a few thugs. He needed the cash, he was running low because his _job_ made money inconsistently - there were bad days and good days and the fact that he’d only recently finished his exams meant that he couldn’t go out to _work_ as often. Then he took a deep breath and recalled what Flying Fox had told him before.  
  
  
 _Don’t be a fucking asshole._  
  
  
Don’t be motivated by money. Don’t be motivated by conflict and desire to fight. That was what separated an indie hero or, even a vigilante, from a superpowered thug. Be motivated instead to help the people in need. Be motivated instead to be a decent fucking person because when you were nice to people, they were nice to others, and that made the world better.  
  
  
After all, only a few hours ago…  
  
  
 _We didn’t help for your money. We helped for your safety, alright?_  
  
  
Sometimes James couldn’t help but wonder how Flying Fox had managed to operate so long without going mad. Sometimes James just needed to use his _unique talents_ and prove his strength to himself. He wasn’t like this before the _incident_. On the other hand, Flying Fox had managed to operate as a vigilante for, what, over six years? Not once putting himself before others. Not once working for profit or for gratification. Only ever doing this to get rid of superpowered assholes that threatened everyone else.  
  
  
And then, of course, there was the other lesson to consider.  
  
  
 _Don’t be a fucking idiot_.  
  
  
Don’t be predictable. He hadn’t hit the streets the past few nights, it would compromise his identity if he went out on the night that school ended. James was tall enough, muscular enough to be an adult in his concealing outfit; he needed to keep it that way. Try to randomly rotate between patrol routes, only going out of your way to counter a specific, known threat. Protect your territory, guard the people within, push the gangs back as much as one was able - but never be as repetitive and monotonous as a farmer inspecting his field each morning.  
  
  
But… fuck! His alter ego hadn’t been spotted for a week or so now, the gangs were getting ballsy. He needed to get back out there and put those assholes’ swelling nuts in a vice and pop them spectacularly. He needed to show up again, he needed to make them _remember_. Although… if they had managed to forget what he was capable of in only a week, he needed to be harsher with them.  
  
  
 _Don’t be a fucking monster_.  
  
  
The teaching flashed into his mind. James thinned his lips. Flying Fox was a really badass cape, truly. He wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. He didn’t have a particularly strong ability - something that PHO called _Personal Vector Control_ \- he could control the direction he was going in, with some control over the velocity, as well. This only gave him a PRT threat rating of Mover 4, Shaker 1. He got his name from the way he used to hang upside-down from ceilings to confront criminals. But damn if he wasn’t good. In his best days, Fox had managed to inch back both the Baron’s and Sandstorm’s gang even when the Canberra Heat hadn’t been able to.  
  
  
But his biggest philosophy was to _never escalate_. He really liked to demonstrate this using that Nietzsche quote which James remembered by heart, now.  
  
  
 _He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into thee._  
  
  
That was what Fox had been adamant that James understand.  
  
  
James sighed. He supposed he should wait another couple of weeks or so, until well after school would’ve ended… could maybe even wait for one of the private schools that finished later, to end. That way, he could point them in the wrong direction… but that would still reveal his age. Would it really matter, being outed as someone from a public college? One of literally thousands of people in this city?  
  
  
He made himself dinner. For two. Half of it, he ate, and the other half, he covered in saran wrap and left on the counter. It was pasta, it wouldn’t spoil for a couple of hours. He plugged his charger into his phone, and set an alarm for 23:45. About four hours from now. A decent nap for what would be coming next.  
  
  
He tucked the phone underneath his pillow, and went to sleep. Or tried to. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper, and he could drowsily recall the sound of his mother returning home. Eating. Opening his door just a crack and making sure he was sleeping safely, and the small smile that graced her wearied face. The sound of her hitting the sheets and going to sleep so fast she might as well have been hit with elephant tranquilizers.  
  
  
The phone’s vibration under his pillow woke him up.  
  
  
James crept out of his bed, making as little noise as possible, and went to his wardrobe. Opened up the doors and fumbled for a familiar spot in the dark. Underneath the very bottom drawer, the underwear drawer, was his costume. Fox had helped him design and make it. Honestly, this was the third iteration of his costume because making it himself… well, they were pieces of shit, really. This one was much better.  
  
  
He had modeled his costume after Fox’s. It was pretty obvious to those who saw it - the color and shade were similar, and the only real difference was that James didn’t wear a cowl and cloak like Fox did to enhance his bat imagery. He had just the bodysuit - modified motorcycle protective gear, really, which Fox purchased easily enough because he actually did get around on a bike in his private life - but James had chosen to overlay it with a layer of Cuben Fiber, supposedly tough and light, dyed a deep, cool red. Some sort of maroon-ish color, maybe a bit darker, but James honestly couldn’t remember what the lady at the crafts store had called it.  
  
  
He slid these on, then put on a pair of durable sneakers and a pair of fingerless gloves. When he was experimenting with his powers, he had ruined many pairs of gloves until he gave up and bought fingerless ones. Sucked during winter, but he couldn’t complain. On top of all his, he threw on a baggy hoodie-jacket, pulled on a backpack - different to his school one - containing a motorcycle helmet painted in a similar color, and jumped out the window.  
  
  
He immediately began to slide down. He allowed his power to flex; his fingers became sticky, and his descent slowed. His fingertips didn’t hurt or anything even as they were rubbed hard against the rough concrete of the apartment building. Gloves, on the other hand, would’ve torn, burned up from the friction.  
  
  
He landed quietly, bending his knees under him, and he began to walk. East, as usual. That was where things were most dangerous, because Killshot’s gang had tried taking the region. It wasn’t working out too well - Killshot was relatively new, seemed a bit amateurish with his power, and James was pretty damn skilled with his own, thanks to Fox’s training. Even though Fox himself was gone, his legacy of vigilantism lived on through James.  
  
  
James tugged off his bag after about an hour of walking. He removed the helmet, removed his jacket, and the helmet went on his head and the jacket in the bag. The bag was placed inside a bush, a bush that he frequented and nobody else approached because of how thorny it was. Thorns weren’t really a problem for James and his power, unless he pressed them perpendicular to his skin, so they slid off his armor, and slid off the fabric of his backpack, and he turned his attention to the sounds.  
  
  
Here was Slipstick.  
  
  
It was a pretty goofy name. For a pretty goofy persona, if he were being honest. Then again, Fox had encouraged that. Don’t become a monster. Be a goof. Everyone underestimates you, first of all, and thus they won’t try very hard to beat you unless they were certifiably insane (he’d encountered a few of those). If you treated the whole thing like a game, then it was less likely for your opponent to get serious and try to kill you, either. They’d just beat you badly enough to go to the emergency room.  
  
  
Slip approached the noises, and hesitated. There he was, Killshot, in the flesh. Slip had already crossed paths with him two or three times, and each time had ended in a stalemate, because Killshot was one of those people that had an inferiority complex or something and always had something to prove. He was… annoying, but hardly unbeatable with Slip’s power. In fact, he’d go so far to say that Killshot had a pretty bad matchup against him.  
  
  
“Heya, boys.” Slipstick stepped out from the shadows, emulating his friend, Rhys, and his mentor, Fox. Confident, not a hint of fear, a little goofy and overdone. “Planning a surprise party for someone?”  
  
  
Killshot was kind of difficult to take seriously, what with all his super-serious demon mask and his super-serious greaser outfit. Slip could tell the kid - because he definitely sounded young - was scowling at him. He briefly wondered if he or Killshot were older. Probably Killshot, because no gang would take a child leader seriously, cape or not.  
  
  
“Fuck off, Slipstick.”  
  
  
“Nah. Don’t feel like it.” Slipstick sat down cross-legged and gestured lazily at them. “You guys are the villains, while I am the dubiously heroic vigilante, so I think you’re up to something sinister. And sinister things really don’t need happening.”  
  
  
As he spoke, he watched the gang warily. It was rare that they carried firearms, because of the Port Arthur amendments, but it wasn’t impossible to get. Still, none seemed to carry any firearms at this time. If they did, it was probably a small-caliber handgun, easily concealed, smuggled, or even hand-built. A lot of them, though, undoubtedly had knives or pipe wrenches and other nasty objects.  
  
  
Killshot sighed, exasperated. “Can any of you fucking murder him already?”  
  
  
The thugs rushed Slip. Slip focused on his ass, and lowered the friction acting on his pants to _zero_. Then he increased the friction acting on his fingertips to _one thousand_. Then he placed his hand on the concrete ground and pushed.  
  
  
He rocketed off to the side, casually standing up as he skidded along the road at thirty kilometers an hour. He allowed the friction on the bottom of his shoes to gradually increase back up to _fifty_ and stopped, the soles of his sneakers squeaking. “You really don’t have to try and humiliate yourself every single time you encounter me,” Slip said loudly. He glanced around; a few phones were pointed in his direction, discreetly, from windows several floors above ground level. Risky - Killshot wasn’t kind to people filming him getting beaten up. “Unless that’s something you’re into? Which is totally fine, naturally, I don’t judge.”  
  
  
The thugs weren’t exactly Olympic sprinters. Slip tapped his foot on the ground, checking his indestructible G-Shock wristwatch. They came within eight meters of him, and suddenly all their shoes stopped while the rest of them moved forward and, in unison, they faceplanted. Slip tried to ignore the stifled giggles coming from the windows.  
  
  
“Geez, Kill, you need better minions.”  
  
  
Hey, what the fuck was he doing with that--  
  
  
Slip’s eyes widened behind his helmet visor. Friction on his toes at _six hundred_. Air resistance at _zero_. Fingertips at _one thousand_ , and he took off sideways, faster than the fastest unpowered humans on Earth. Slipstick managed to dodge the small hatchback flying at him faster than it could actually drive. The vehicle crashed into the support pillars of an apartment block with a tremendous crash and folded itself around the concrete support, even as the more decorative concrete pieces flaked off.  
  
  
Jesus…  
  
  
Screams sounded in the night as Slip tried to orient himself again. Fuck, this couldn’t be happening! Had he finally pushed Killshot too far? Guilt gnawed at his mind as he sprinted past one of Killshot’s henchmen, which was now nothing more than a bloody smear on the ground. He dived as Killshot released a half-dozen heavy steel hex nuts, flying as fast as the car had been going. Still, he was a bit slow for that one - the first arrival managed to graze his upper right arm. He winced; even though everything apart from his fingertips and soles were at _zero_ , the angle of deflection hadn’t been too great. Still, having a nice, tender bruise was orders of magnitude than having the entire arm out of commission for several months.  
  
  
But Killshot was an amateur. Slipstick was more experienced, especially thanks to Fox’s training. It was easy enough for him to predict Killshot’s frankly fairly one-dimensional maneuvers. He also needed to finish this fight quickly, if he didn’t want Killshot to hurt, and possibly kill, more people. With the rampage he was going on, Killshot wasn’t above collateral damage.  
  
  
What had driven him to this insanity?  
  
  
Slipstick dodged, jumping to the side, trying to make his target as small as possible, raising his hands to the size - and the car mirror of the sedan grazed across his chest, mostly harmlessly. His heart pounded violently in his chest as the sedan crashed into a different apartment, the weight of the car causing substantially more damage. That… that had been close. Frictionless or not, a direct hit would have killed him.  
  
  
“Fuck…” he breathed, getting himself back into the action.  
  
  
As all cowardly villains do when their bullshit tactics don’t work, Killshot began backing away, into the backseat of his truck. His driver began to move. Slip urged himself to run faster, constantly keeping on his toes. The localized friction meant that he didn’t need to plant his feet on the ground as much as other people, letting him take more steps and fly further with each leap. If he could just get that fucking ute into range!  
  
  
He got his chance when Killshot’s truck slowed down to turn a corner. Slip reached out… and grasped the towbar. Even as the truck accelerated, Slipstick was able to keep his footing from months of practice even before he went out caping; he hung onto the towbar, and reduced the friction of his soles appropriately, looking rather like a rollerskater hanging onto the truck.  
  
  
His range was eight meters. The truck fit entirely within his range. He began to slowly increase the friction of the gears, of the tires touching the road, of the air flowing over the truck… and marginally, the truck began to lag. Or, at least, the engine began to whine louder even as it failed to accelerate.  
  
  
Gotcha, bitch.  
  
  
Then a monstrous bang knocked Slipstick’s head to the side; God he was thankful for the neck bracer hidden under the helmet and bodysuit. He was a little dazed, and in his moment of weakness, let go of the truck. As soon as it left his range, it picked up speed again, and roared off into the night. Slipstick stumbled, his friction returning to normal levels. He pressed his hand against his helmet, and found a big, jagged dent in his helmet. It thankfully hadn’t penetrated. These were the times that he was truly reminded of how dangerous any Parahuman could be, weak power or not.  
  
  
Another fucking hex nut. Killshot, ironically enough for someone of that name, had shit aim. Although that was probably the only reason Slipstick was alive. Killshot had probably been aiming for it to go straight through Slip’s visor and into his brain.  
  
  
Fucking hell. Even the weakest Parahuman villains in this city could kill him. Killshot needed to get fucked. As soon as possible.  
  
  
“Slipstick?”  
  
  
Slip raised his head to find a fidgeting civilian. A girl of about his age, holding a phone. Brunette with shoulder-length hair, kinda cute. “Yeah?” Slip croaked. Damn, he hadn’t quite gotten his voice back yet, and his heart was only now starting to calm down.  
  
  
“Are you - are you alright?” she asked, concerned.  
  
  
Slipstick couldn’t smile to her and have her see it, so he had to improvise; thankfully, Fox had already thought of this problem, having had it himself, and appropriately, gave Slip drama lessons as well. He puffed out his chest to comical proportions, hands on hips, and stuck out his arm straight. The girl flinched slightly, but then relaxed as Slip’s thumb went up like a spring-loaded mechanism, to complete an, all in all, fairly goofy thumbs-up pose.  
  
  
“I’m perfectly alright, citizen! Thankfully the armor helped,” he said, returning to a more normal voice. “Your concern is appreciated, though. Thanks for checking on me.”  
  
  
She blushed slightly. “It’s, uh, it’s not a problem.” Then she fidgeted some more. “Can I have your picture?” she blurted.  
  
  
Slipstick laughed. Look, mum, he was famous! “Of course, citizen. Say cheese!” A bit wasted due to his helmet, but he gave a thumbs up while the girl beamed into her camera and they snapped a selfie together. “Now you stay safe, okay? I need to go back to the scene… villain’s minions they might be, but I can’t just let them die.”  
  
  
Slip ran off, but he did catch her mutter something under her breath, that sounded like ‘sure you can.’ He chose to ignore that.  
  
  
Police had already arrived on the scene, as had Steadfast. One of the members of the Canberra Heat Parahuman Team. Slipstick got the impression that Steadfast didn’t particularly like him. Ah, well, can’t win everyone over, he supposed, but he still wished it was maybe Alloy or Blink or even socially awkward Phantasm. He needed to report to the police what had happened, make sure he didn’t get sued for anything.  
  
  
“Hello, officers. Hello, Steadfast,” he said politely.  
  
  
“Slipstick,” Steadfast grunted. “What happened?”  
  
  
“Found Killshot, loitering. I walked up to them, and they told me to fuck off, and I said no,” Slipstick recited. “I thought he was going to slink away after a brief confrontation as usual, but once I’d disabled his thugs, he shot a freaking car at me. That hatchback, there. He was genuinely trying to kill me this time, and he wasn’t worried about hurting others when he did it.”  
  
  
Steadfast glared at him through her reflective domino mask. “You must have finally goaded him into this. Congratulations, Slipstick.”  
  
  
“Now hold up, how the hell is it my fault--"  
  
  
“Miss Steadfast, I have to agree that you’re being harsh on Slipstick,” one of the officers said. “It’s not his fault that Killshot chose to be a villain.”  
  
  
Steadfast scowled at the officer, but said nothing. Slip sighed. This hadn’t been a good night. He only had one thing left in his mind, though.  
  
  
Killshot was willing and able to cause a lot of death and destruction. He needed to go.


	2. Meet the Heat

It had been a week since James had finished school.  
  
Despite all that, the time that Saori could spend face-to-face with her son had barely increased.  
  
Be a doctor, her parents said. It’ll be prestigious, it’ll earn you money, it’ll get you a good husband and you’ll be able to grow a nice family. She snorted self-depreciatingly as she considered that. Look how that had turned out. She was earning quite a bit of money, yes, but no small amount from overtime pay, she looked like she was fifty-five years old when she was only forty-five, she’d been diagnosed with high blood pressure, her husband had left for greener pastures and oh, _one of her fucking kids were dead_.  
  
James was all she had left, and yet, she couldn’t even make the slightest time for him.  
  
For whatever reason, Canberra had consistently lagged behind the rest of the country when it came to medical care. Patients waiting for elective surgery often waited at least two months, with an average of three months; even emergency rooms might take hours to open up to those with injuries or illnesses that weren’t life-threatening. And in Canberra, there was plenty enough of those. Gang fights led to stabbings and beatings and punctured organs, and as a surgeon, Saori was one of the people there to patch them up.  
  
All the fucking time.  
  
Sometimes Saori wondered if any of her colleagues would care if she decided not to heal the young (or old) men with gang-affiliated tattoos on their shoulders, the white supremacists that glared at her when they saw who’d be treating them, if she simply let them die. It was a dark fantasy of hers, one that she thought about more and more as she came closer to her sixteenth year as a surgeon, but one she never truly managed to muster the courage to do.  
  
And, if anything, she had it relatively easy. She had started working fewer hours - not much of a difference, going from maybe sixty-six to sixty-two hours a week on average - ever since the death of Esther, her firstborn. Her younger colleagues worked close to seventy sometimes, especially during summer, since that seemed to cause a sharp spike in gang activity. Furthermore, as the economy continued to spiral into depression, people continued to find medical school tuition more and more impossible to afford; new doctors were becoming rarer each passing year.  
  
James had started to go to sleep earlier, which meant that the only time she could really speak to him was during the mornings, when he’d wake up to work out or go for a run, depending on the day of the week. She would try to exchange as many words as she could, pushing through the awkwardness as best she could. She loved James, and James loved her (she hoped). They were close, even if they didn’t get to talk much, and sometimes when she had a good day they’d eat dinner together and, even despite her exhaustion, she’d force herself to stay up a little longer and help James with his homework or watch a movie with him.  
  
Her effort was probably the only reason she knew of what he did at night.  
  
James had, on his own volition, reported his power to her. She was glad he did, even if it did mean she was constantly worried for his health. She started keeping comprehensive first-aid kits in the house, if he ever got injured and needed to keep it off the book. He never mentioned what his so-called ‘Trigger event’ might be, but considering the death of his elder sister only three months before he reported it - well, she wasn’t an idiot.  
  
It was to both her and her son’s great fortune, though, that James met Flying Fox on his first patrol, who appealed to him as a mentor figure. Fox was surprisingly level-headed, told James not to go out until he was sufficiently trained and sufficiently armored; the young man had even come over to their home for dinner once or twice, when Saori could get days off. Saori herself wasn’t too interested in capes beyond what kind of injuries they could put on others, but even she knew who Flying Fox was. All of Canberra did, and even on the national stage he was fairly well-known, despite his lack of government or corporate sponsorship.  
  
James spent about five to six months doing nothing but train with Fox. Sometimes… practical lessons, but Fox tried to avoid those until he felt James was ready. There was a brief period of time in late October when there were two independent vigilantes patrolling the city, and then Fox left, to the United States to live with his girlfriend if James was to be believed, and now it was only James - but despite that, Saori was much more confident about his safety than before.  
  
Though she didn’t have much to smile about these days, she still managed a few whenever she was on her coffee break and she saw that her son’s Parahuman alter ego had made the local news again - beating back a villain (usually Killshot, due to how close his gang was) or rescuing people from thugs or dragging a driver in a wreck to safety.  
  
She knew that Fox had taught him well, put him on the right path and all that, but she also had no doubt that James was, and always had been, a good kid.  
  
She’d thankfully gotten New Year’s off. She had decided to work on Christmas instead, allowing the other doctors with family to celebrate it together; she’d instead asked for New Year’s, a day generally more important to her Japanese family than Christmas, so she could video call her parents in Tokyo as well as spend some time with her kid; of course, even for just New Year’s Eve and New Year’s, Saori to draw straws with her coworkers.  
  
She was damn glad she’d gotten those two days off. Despite most fireworks being restricted to the general public, people always managed to find ways to give themselves second-degree burns while drunk and drag themselves to the hospital in hordes. Although one could argue that treating dozens of burns was significantly better than extracting a Christmas ornament from someone’s rectum. Because there was _always_ that one person.  
  
Saori sighed through her nose as she reached her apartment door. She stuck her key inside it and twisted. It got stuck. Fucking… she took a deep breath to calm herself down, and was reminded of James’ smug impression from that day they’d gone shopping and he managed to unlock the door on his first try, because he’d likely been smoothing out the inside of the lock. She jiggled it around a little more vigorously and it opened. She lightly kicked the door as she entered, grumbling.  
  
The door automatically swung shut behind her, as it was designed to do. She sighed. The light in the kitchen was still on, as usual, but there was a shadow there as well. “James?” She called, and he made a muffled noise. She smiled.  
  
She found him with his cheeks bulging like that of a chipmunk, hunched over a pack of Oreos. She shook her head in exasperation. “Oreos so close to midnight, James? You won’t be able to sleep.”  
  
He swallowed, and the lump visibly straining against his throat was an unpleasant sight. “I’m not going to sleep,” he replied.  
  
“Going out again?” Saori asked.  
  
“Yeah. I need the sugar.”  
  
“The Oreos are costing us a fortune,” Saori commented, putting down her bag to the side and cracking her knuckles.  
  
“The gangs are costing us a fortune. If I can take down the gangs with the help of Oreos, we’ll still be making a profit.”  
  
Saori rolled her eyes at him. He was dressed in his repurposed motorcycle gear, sans helmet. Everything was all laid out, ready to go. She opened up the fridge to find a plate with steamed veggies and grilled salmon. “Is this for me?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Thanks, James. You’re a good kid,” she said honestly, and pretended not to notice him freeze and blush slightly. He blushed so easily - took after his prick of a father. It was cute on him, though, despite where it came from.  
  
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” James said, putting on his hoodie. Saori nodded to him.  
  
“Stay safe.”  
  
“I will. Love you, mum.”  
  
“I love you too, James.”  
  
Saori continued to smile softly even as he slid out the window (nearly gave her a heart attack when he first did it) and down onto the street. Her little hero. Despite his seemingly weak power - certainly wasn’t as destructive as even the weaker villains in this city - he had done well for himself. A few cuts and bruises sometimes, but no major defeats. He truly was living up to Fox’s legacy, and if he did ever join the Canberra Heat once he became an adult, he’d be a prized member for sure.  
  
The microwave beeped. Saori sat down to eat. Even after so long, it tasted good.  
  


____________________________________________________________________________________

  
“Who’s there?”  
  
Slipstick strained his eyes, searching for the source of the sound. He relaxed marginally as a dark figure appeared, holding an oil lantern that glowed a dull, wavering orange. It never failed to unnerve him, that one, what with all her ‘Boatman of the Styx’ kind of vibes. The lamp and its owner came closer, slowly revealing the silhouette of a cloaked and hooded person.  
  
“Hello, Slipstick,” she said softly.  
  
“Wisp,” Slip replied. “Do you always have to spook me when you show up?”  
  
“I can’t help it.” The figure made some sort of motion that could be interpreted as a shrug. “It’s not like I enjoy being seen.”  
  
“Aren’t you, like, the second most popular member of the Heat? Adults and Juniors both?” Slipstick asked.  
  
“And I hate it,” Wisp grumbled. “They always want my autograph, and my handwriting isn’t even that good. And they try to make me talk exactly because I _don’t_ talk.”  
  
“Maybe you could tell them to fuck off,” Slipstick said, as the two began walking side by side. “The first words Wisp the introvert ever speaks on patrol - ‘fuck off.’”  
  
“PR would tan my hide,” Wisp replied flatly. “And they’ll tell me to be more friendly. And to help with that, I’ll need a friendlier, more open costume. And by ‘open’, they mean exposing skin.”  
  
“Yeah, sucks.” James briefly wondered what Wisp looked like in skin-revealing outfits - like they’d never seen the sun before, probably. “You could always become an independent, you know. Then you’d get to patrol with me, the nicest bloke in Canberra.” Slip hummed to himself. “Speaking of, why _are_ you patrolling this area?”  
  
“I got temporarily redirected here because of increased activity from Killshot,” she said, referring to the events of a week ago. “I’ve been patrolling the day before yesterday, and the day before that too. You just didn’t see me, I guess.”  
  
“I saw Blink once.”  
  
“Yeah, I think that was… three days ago? We’ve been on a rotation.”  
  
“I guess Killshot isn’t a small-timer anymore, huh?” Slip sighed. “I didn’t think he’d go all out on me like that.”  
  
“Neither did Steadfast. She’s increasing Heat presence near Killshot’s and Baron’s territories.” Due to the similarity of their powers and the alliance between the two gangs, it was widely suspected Killshot was a second-generation trigger from the Red Baron.  
  
“Think they’re planning something?”  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Wisp raised her free hand to make a so-so gesture. “I think Killshot just went a bit too far without realizing and now he’s hiding to lose the Heat.”  
  
“Do you make that pun every single time this sort of thing happens?”  
  
“Nobody appreciates my jokes. And they wonder why I don’t talk,” Wisp said.  
  
Slip smirked. “Maybe they think you’re a Case-53.” Those were rare outside of the United States, but Australia did have its own - an armadillo-like hero called… Armadillo.  
  
“Who’s to say I’m not?” Wisp challenged.  
  
Slip stared into her eyes. Or, at least, into her hood. “Are you really?”  
  
“...nah. I don't have amnesia. I can still remember the time I burst into tears the first time I was made to perform public speaking in school. And now I want to kill myself. Again.”  
  
Slip snorted. “Please don’t. You’re the second-best Junior Heat.”  
  
“There are only two Junior Heats, full stop.”  
  
“Well, I mean, of course it sounds bad if you put it that way.”  
  
“So you like Blink more than I do, huh?”  
  
“Well, yeah. You’re like all creepy, but Blink is blonde, wears a deliciously skintight costume, and probably plays volleyball.” And reminded him of Liv.  
  
“Volleyball?”  
  
“Have you seen that ass?”  
  
“Fucking creep.”  
  
Slip chuckled. “You know I’m joking, right?”  
  
“You’re not.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m not.”  
  
“And what about me?” Wisp looked at him. “Do I have a nice butt?”  
  
Slip looked at her outline, which looked more like the Earth Aleph depiction of a Nazgûl more than anything. “...sure.”  
  
“You’re so mean.” Wisp swatted at him. “Dick.”  
  
“You know you love me.”  
  
“My mum loves you,” Wisp said, and Slip choked. “She’d probably try to grab your bicep and tell you how strong you are. She’s embarrassing like that.”  
  
“What about you? How high does she rank you?”  
  
“I’m not even her favorite Junior Heat.”  
  
“Damn. That sucks.”  
  
“Yeah. But she likes me better than Duke or Steadfast, so that’s something.”  
  
Slip stared at her. Steadfast - an Alexandria package. Those who punched her reported that they felt like they were punching a brick wall, and others reported talking to her was like talking to a brick wall, as well. Duke, who could - well, he wasn’t a bad person, Slip was sure - be taken by some to be a bit of an asshole; a bit arrogant and bragged more than most. Honestly, it wasn’t much of a victory. He told her as much.  
  
“Slipstick, I was making a joke. It’s a shock that I’m the second favorite in the Canberra branch, only after Alloy. I mean, yeah, Alloy’s a Tinker so he’s cool as hell, but I honestly wasn’t expecting to be higher than Blink. Like you said, she’d blonde, she’s busty, has a moderately flashy power and she’s nice to her fans. I ignore them most of the time.”  
  
“I think your power’s really cool,” Slipstick said honestly. “Even if I don’t understand all of it.”  
  
“Photon manipulation in a two-point-four meter radius. Apparently.” Wisp shrugged. “I don’t know much about physics.”  
  
“Fuck physics.”  
  
“Fuck physics,” she agreed. “I’m kinda hungry. I forgot to eat before I went out.”  
  
“There’s a Macca’s that way,” Slip pointed. “I think it’s open twenty-four hours. Or maybe that’s just the drive-thru. I’m not sure.”  
  
“Console,” Wisp said blandly, “permission to get a burger?”  
  
Slip snorted, trying to contain his laughter at the flat tone in which it was spoken, and Wisp tilted her head to the side, listening. Eventually, she nodded. “Thanks, console.” She turned to Slipstick. “Console says I can get Macca’s.”  
  
“I thought Dementors ate happiness, not hamburgers.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
"Maybe a Happy Meal counts?"  
  
Wisp didn't deign to respond.  
  
“Do you have cash?” Slipstick asked.  
  
“I keep it in here somewhere,” she said, fumbling with her cloak and robe. “Eh, I’m sure I’ll find it.”  
  
The McDonald’s wasn’t too far out the route of Wisp’s patrol, so they dropped by. Since it was only the drive-thru, they just decided to walk under the arch while Slipstick made engine noises with his mouth until Wisp told him to shut up. The cashier at the window sort of stared at them, wondering what the hell he was seeing. Wish bought herself a Big Mac with fries, while Slip went for a box of ten nuggets.  
  
“Yeah, sorry,” Wisp apologized as she fumbled her cash. “I only have one free hand, so… fuck.”  
  
“I got it,” Slip said, picking up her cash and handing it to the man. Boy. Somewhere in between - he was about university age. “Thanks, dude.”  
  
“Hey, uh, could I…”  
  
“Picture?” Slip guessed.  
  
“Yeah,” the guy said with a nervous smile. “If it’s not too much trouble.”  
  
“No problem,” Wisp said quietly, and the guy stuck his torso over the drive-thru window to take a selfie with them. Then he got two pair photos, one with Wisp, the other with Slip. As they returned to the patrol route, Wisp peeled her mask down (independent to the hood she wore) and took generous bites of the burger. She also ate the fries one at a time. So she was one of those people.  
  
Meanwhile, Slip couldn’t pull his helmet down, so he had to walk with the chin guard covering his eyes. He hung onto Wisp’s cloak like a young child grasping their parent’s shirt (it was kind of funny listening to Wisp grumble at him) and hoped he didn’t trip over anything and drop his precious nuggets. The two of them finished their food and Wisp took both their rubbish. Slip raised an eyebrow at her as he pulled his helmet back down.  
  
“I have pockets lined with waterproof fabric,” she explained. “Heroes can’t be seen littering.”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
“Yeah. Cool, huh?”  
  
“I guess?”  
  
Another thirty minutes passed without incident before Wisp paused. Her head-tilting indicated she was receiving information. “Understood,” she said quietly. “Heading that way now.” And then she turned ninety degrees, to her right, and began running East. Slip promptly followed her.  
  
His left leg to _two_. Right leg to _sixty_. He began sliding along the road like he was riding a skateboard, easily keeping pace with Wisp, who glared at him in annoyance. She wasn’t unfit - Slip sincerely doubted that any of the heroes, even the Juniors, were unfit - but running in heavy clothes probably wasn’t that fun. By comparison, here he was, casually rolling along with his arms behind his head.  
  
“Are you doing that just to annoy me?” Wisp asked.  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
“Never mind. Have more important things to focus on,” she muttered. “Independent villain Juggernaut was sighted seven hundred meters east, apparently robbing a jewelry store. Remember, he’s a Breaker-5, sub-categories Brute-7 and Mover-3, who enters a Breaker state which allows him to charge at speeds upwards of seventy kilometers an hour, but only in a straight line and for less than three seconds. While he’s in his Breaker state, he’s invulnerable to almost anything, including most other powers.”  
  
“Yeah, he’s a fucking tool. We’ll get him easy enough,” Slip said with a grin.  
  
“Yeah, and Juggernaut has still escaped the police, I don’t know, a dozen times. He’s also escaped once from Steadfast. You should be careful.”  
  
“Always am,” Slip replied.  
  
Wisp muttered something that he didn’t quite manage to catch. “Fine. As soon as we see Juggernaut, I’m going dark. You distract him while I try to get up close to him so I can stun him.”  
  
Slip nodded. ‘Going dark’ in Wisp’s sense was her bending the photons around her to shroud her figure. It wasn’t foolproof, and it could be easily detected during the day - but it was close to invisible to any unsuspecting people during night. This was helped by Wisp’s dark costume and the fact that nobody ever really expected her, despite being fairly famous in these parts.  
  
Another minute and the two of them were on the scene; Juggernaut, and the three other members of his crew, were carefully carrying out their prize into the back of a truck. Slipstick began to veer away from the center of the road, running close to the buildings and letting his dark red outfit blend in against the brickwork; Wisp took a second to shift into near-invisibility and disappeared. Slip lost sight of the girl hero soon enough.  
  
When facing multiple enemies, the element of surprise was always crucial. The guy keeping watch hadn’t heard him - careful application of friction on the soles of his shoes with every single step, and every shift of body weight from his heel to toes, kept him quiet to the point of near-silence as he ran. When he was close enough, he slowed to a sneak and jumped the man.  
  
Friction on his palms and fingers to _two hundred_. On his back to _two hundred and fifty_. The man made no noise except his breath being knocked from his lungs as Slipstick tossed him over his back in a judo throw which he didn’t actually know the name of. A heavy thud as the man - fairly large and muscular - hit the ground. This got the attention of Juggernaut and one other thug. The last one was sitting in the driver’s seat of the cabin and didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Fucking Slipstick,” Slip heard Juggernaut mutter. “Get the fuck out of here.”  
  
“Telling me never works, you know,” Slip quipped.  
  
He danced out of the way of Juggernaut rushing past him. Juggernaut was like a rhinoceros, just human-sized and significantly less maneuverable. The trick was to give oneself enough space to dodge, and Juggernaut would never be able to catch you. Juggernaut expertly spun on one foot, preserving his momentum, and charged again, lighting up with a kaleidoscopic aura as he rushed forward, his body frozen in time. Slip dodged again.  
  
It was interesting. People suspected that Steadfast and Juggernaut might be a cluster trigger - after all, they basically had the same power, except for Steadfast it only worked when she didn’t move, instead anchoring herself to one spot. And there was the fact that the one time they fought, their two powers canceled each other out and both of them ended up getting hurt.  
  
As Juggernaut’s three seconds ran out and the light faded away, he tried to spin again to face Slip but yelled out as a bright light, as bright as the sun, flashed out in front of him. He clutched his eyes, moaning in agony, and the light of Wisp’s lantern disappeared once more. The man in the truck finally noticed what was going on, and the other henchman lunged at a dark shape where Wisp used to be, only to pass through air and stumble. He was struck by Wisp’s taser in the back shortly afterward, and fell immobile to the ground.  
  
The truck tried to move, only to find its wheels spinning uselessly as Slip set the tires to _zero_. While he let them spin, he held down Juggernaut and allowed Wisp to handcuff him. Wisp’s form rematerialized from a blurry outline into a proper person - if a super goth one - and the two of them looked at each other, visor to mask. Wisp raised her free hand, curled into a fist. Slip bumped it.  
  
“Nice,” Slip said with an unseen grin.  
  
“Console, Wisp and vigilante Slipstick has captured the villain Juggernaut,” Wisp said. “With three of his henchmen.”  
  
Slip made sure to very quietly zip-tie the driver, making sure Wisp’s statement was actually true.  
  
“Great. Thanks.” Wisp turned to Slip. “Police ETA in ninety seconds. They were already homing in on our position.”  
  
“Good to know,” Slip said. He glanced at his watch. “Fucking hell - it’s three in the morning. I wanna go to bed.”  
  
“Hmph. I have to stay up for another hour on patrol.”  
  
Slip scratched his neck. “Man, now that makes me feel bad. Fine, I’ll stay up for another hour to be with you.”  
  
“You’re too kind,” Wisp said, but it was too quiet for Slip to determine if it was sarcasm or not. It probably was.  
  
Slip didn’t mind patrolling with Wisp at all. If he was honest, he was sort of interested in her, in a ‘is she pretty behind the mask’ kind of way. He knew that a lot of guys his age shared the same feelings about her, which led to her popularity. Blink was very attractive, with her buxom figure inside a tight costume, but Wisp had the mystique that caught a lot people’s interest. Not that Wisp herself realized that.  
  
The remaining hour was spent in peace. Killshot didn’t pop up today, either. Maybe he really was just laying low - Slip might joke that he didn’t have the brain cells necessary to formulate a plan, but he’d underestimated Killshot’s ruthlessness last week already, he didn’t need to underestimate the villain again. Maybe he could shoot Fox a message, see what he thought about all this.  
  
Wisp and Slipstick parted ways an hour later, with the former being picked up by a police vehicle that’d transport her back to Heat headquarters in Civic, near the city central shopping district and near the Australian National University. Slip was given permission to grab the police cruiser’s mirror and slide alongside the car, hitching a ride until he was near where he always dumped his backpack. He circled the block, making sure nobody was tailing him, then retrieved his back, covered himself in his hoodie, and went back home.  
  
He increased the friction on his fingertips to _five hundred_ and his toes to _seven hundred_ and began scaling the wall of his apartment towards his open window like Spider-Man. He couldn’t turn the friction all the way up to _one thousand_ or otherwise the concrete started flaking off from his weight; since the Manton Limit protected his own body from burning up, all the force was applied to the wall itself. He rolled over the windowsill and landed on the strategically placed sofa with an ‘oomph.’  
  
He closed the window, and crept back into his room. He dumped his backpack in the corner, messily shoved his costume behind the underwear drawer, and drowned himself in deodorant before changing into PJs. He checked his personal phone - his work phone was long since turned off - and realized Liv had responded to one of his earlier messages.  
  
 _Yeah, I can meet up with u  
Whats ur schedule like  
I can do tues(28) at like 11am??_  
  
James lay down in bed, and smiled.


	3. Beginning of the End

Matt ignored the others bustling about the Heat common room. He was reading a book on deceased Parahumans from the United States, their known abilities, and their classifications (if the PRT had existed when they still lived).  
  
As one of the most powerful and potentially important Trumps in Australia, possibly the whole world, he was placed on the sidelines a lot. Well, that, and the fact that he’d only joined a few weeks ago. In any case, he was hung back, and made to read all about powers and more importantly, power synergies. Officer Stratton - his business card proclaimed him as the ‘Australian Federal Police Liaison for Parahuman Law Enforcement, Canberra’ - refused to let him see combat ‘until he was ready.’ Whenever that might be.  
  
After all, Stratton wanted him to stay safe until he could throw Matt at the Endbringers. Like a lamb to the slaughter, really, fattening him up until he was a viable candidate for sacrifice, using his life to buy others time, to drive back the monstrosities. Matt doubted that Stratton thought for a single second that Matt could beat the Endbringers. No, he was just another pawn to buy time, that was all.  
  
Matt could copy powers. Only for thirty-three minutes, really. And if he didn’t mind that deadline shrinking to about eleven minutes, he could copy two different powers and combine them into a single, stronger power. He could continue to add powers but more than four gave him a time limit too small for him to do anything meaningful. The only thing that he’d so far encountered that didn’t yield to his touch was Alloy’s Tinker ability. From that, the lab coat people assumed he couldn’t copy other Tinker abilities, either.  
  
But that wasn’t disheartening to them, not really. Stratton wanted Matt to touch Eidolon and Myrddin at the next Endbringer fight and see if Matt couldn’t produce some wacky magic mumbo-jumbo to drive off, or even kill, the Endbringers. Until then, he wasn’t permitted to do anything. Stratton had said as much.  
  
“He’s our biggest, baddest cape if we play it right,” Stratton had said as he revealed Matt to his potential teammates in a meeting last Monday. “He has the potential to exceed Eidolon, the strongest Parahuman in the world, in raw power and versatility. He might be the first of humanity’s champions against Endbringers that could fight toe-to-toe with them.”  
  
Stratton had been ecstatic at Matt’s discovery. Matt could understand him being a bit excited. Likewise, Matt could understand why everyone else seemed rather unenthused. Alloy was known as a bloke as friendly as he was badass; despite that, the smile underneath his Hero-inspired visor was brittle and somewhat forced. Steadfast’s expression was impossibly neutral, as it always seemed to be (except when radiating disappointment, which she did often) and Matt had thought nothing of it, but realized after a week of observation that Steadfast had ‘neutral’ and ‘extremely neutral’ expressions; at the meeting, she’d worn the latter.  
  
Duke, the youngest adult Heat member, had no tells whatsoever. His expression was that of practiced boredom, and Matt couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, and didn’t snag any information despite him occasionally turning his head to stare at Matt. The newest adult Heat member, Mirror Man, had his face covered with a mirrored visor, but his body language was obvious enough; he was hunched, his shoulders tense, even as he sat.  
  
Blink looked much like Alloy, in a sense, seeing as she was the friendliest Junior Heat, and had a reputation of being friendly and wholesome. Still, she wasn’t as old as Alloy, and did not have his experience; her tells we’re more obvious, and it seemed like she was disappointed in her own ability, and also disappointed in herself for being disappointed rather than cheering Matt on. Wisp, the fairly popular and uncommon Shaker-Stranger combo, didn’t have any tells. Although that might have to do with the fact that literally none of her body was visible, even her body language mostly concealed.  
  
After that, Duke had been the first to approach. He came with a bright smile when Matt was alone, and at that moment Matt knew that Duke was trouble.  
  
“Hey!” he’d said, sticking his hand out. Matt took it, and ignored his mind suddenly opening up to possibilities; increase adrenaline production, testosterone production. Usually people wavered the most minute amount even when stationary - similarly, people’s eyes generally flickered slightly even when they were staring at an unchanging object. Matt had none of that anymore. Everything in his body was in complete control, unmoving when he didn’t want it to be or didn’t care for it to move. He manually spiked his adrenaline and any trace of fear or pain disappeared, even as Duke squeezed his hand ridiculously tight.  
  
“I’m Duke,” he’d said in a low voice. “I’ve been at this shit for six years, since I was fifteen. I started from nothing. I started with nothing. You? You think you’re hot shit because you have a cool power, apparently. Well, it ain’t true. With that sort of attitude, you’re going to be killed by the end of the month.”  
  
He tried to shove Matt back, but Matt had already hit his growth spurts and was, though not as much as Duke, still fairly tall and heavy. And the fact that he had perfect motor control - just like Duke - meant that all his muscles locked up, and he didn’t even budge at Duke’s forceful shove. Duke blinked, trying to figure out what happened, but Matt grabbed a fistful of Duke’s costume, pressed his hip against Duke’s own, and forced him to bend over to meet him eye to eye. Matt allowed Duke’s power to freeze his expression in a scowl, eyes boring into Duke’s.  
  
“Hello, Duke, I’m Matthew,” Matt had said calmly, tone of his words at odds with his frightening scowl. “It’s good to know you’re looking out for my wellbeing, but I’m afraid I don’t really need the advice. You see, everything you can do, I can do better than you.”  
  
Duke glared at him, trying to pull himself back, but even his strength couldn’t make Matt budge. At least, not unless he pushed his body to the point of hurting itself. “For thirty-three fucking minutes,” Duke had spat. “Then you return to being boring old you. Worthless.”  
  
“Thirty-three minutes is more than enough for most opponents I encounter,” Matt had replied calmly. “Do you know what Steadfast’s power is? She’s an Alexandria package. She can fly, and she can tank hits. Only problem is, she can’t move in her Breaker state that renders her invincible. That’s the only reason she’s not literally Alexandria.”  
  
Duke had made to interrupt, but Matt cut him off first. “But what if she had total control over her body, all the time? What if she could control her body even while in her Breaker state? I could achieve that - that’s the kind of powers I can synthesize. Steadfast still hasn’t left the building to go on patrol. I could go to her, shake her hand just like I did with you, and I could hunt you down. It would only last ten minutes, but for that ten minutes, I would be Alexandria. I could take down the Baron and Killshot and Sandstorm in those ten minutes. And I could kill you. Snap your neck, just like that - your Brute 2 rating will do nothing to save you.”  
  
Matt had released Duke’s hand, shoving his hand back in the process. “So, yes. You are more experienced than I am. But that’s alright, I can make up the difference, pull my own weight, with raw power. Power that you could never achieve. So don’t you worry about little old me. I can take care of myself.”  
  
Matt didn’t recall what Duke had to say, because he’d left then, uninterested in further conversation. However, Duke had taken to avoiding Matt like the plague, so clearly Duke had understood that Matt didn’t need all his, ah, advice, as helpful as he was trying to be. He wasn’t the only one avoiding Matt. Alloy talked to him sometimes, but Matt suspected he was simply too busy. Mirror Man was generally shy around anyone anyway, as was Wisp, and Blink did her best to try and engage Matt in conversation; if Matt were more inclined to converse, she might have fielded better results. Steadfast didn’t seem to like him much. Matt could tell she was the kind of person to take pride in her strength, and Matt was, by default, stronger than her. That was kind of the whole point of his power.  
  
If Stratton hadn’t been such a fucking muppet during that introduction, then things might have been better between them.  
  
In any case, it was up to him to cultivate better relationships with them, now. Whether they liked it or not, they were his teammates now. Matt decided to go speak to one or more of them, if he could find them, and closed his book, rolling sideways off the sofa and deftly onto his feet. He glanced around, and decided to head into the Junior Heat dorms. Juniors were a safe bet, surely, them only being a couple of years older than him.  
  
Blink’s door was open. She got a nice big room, because she was, in fact, a ward of the state. She didn’t actually have a proper home - well, this building, this Parahuman Law Enforcement Building, was her home.She decorated it in a mixture of white, pink and gold. Fairly tasteful, all told, and everything went with that aesthetic, except for maybe the shelf lined with Canberra Heat figurines. Matt, not having a name or costume, didn’t occupy a spot on that place yet.  
  
Matt knocked on the open door, and Blink’s civilian face looked up. She smiled. “Yes?”  
  
“Just wanted to talk,” Matt said. “Form better relationships with my teammates and all that.”  
  
“Sure, sure,” Blink said, smile growing. “Come in, then.”  
  
Matt noticed the way all of her shoes were neatly lined at the door, and he removed his own, letting his socked feet step onto the fuzzy pink rug. He looked around, curiously but hopefully not creepily, taking in the decorations. A bed on one corner, near a window; two bookshelves dominated the wall perpendicular to the window. Opposite the window, and next to the door, was a wardrobe, and opposite the bookshelves, where Blink was sitting now, was a desk, with studying implements and, right now, cosmetics. A large circular mirror hung on the wall, in which Blink was focusing, as she applied mascara to her eyelashes.  
  
“Going somewhere?” Matt asked. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”  
  
“Oh, no,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m meeting a friend… date… at eleven. I don’t have to leave until half-past-ten.” Almost thirty minutes from now. “We can talk for a bit. What did you have in mind?”  
  
Matt had no fucking clue. “I have no fucking clue,” he said.  
  
Blink snorted. “Alright, then. Have you met the PR people yet? In the process of deciding a name, or a costume?”  
  
“Not yet. I will later today, though.”  
  
“Hm. Well, they do know what they’re doing, but I’ll admit, they can get a bit carried away. Make sure to keep them on track, before they derail themselves into weird costume designs you definitely don’t want.” Blink paused and smiled at him through the mirror, as Matt sat down on the edge of Blink’s bed, covered in pastel-pink blankets. “Have you thought of a name?”  
  
“I can’t think of anything that fits my description and one that I like at the same time,” Matt sighed. “There’s Fusion, which is a bit boring and apparently already used by a hero in New Zealand. I could go with Synthesis, maybe. But it’s a mouthful and not very catchy.”  
  
“Hmm. I’m afraid I’m out of ideas, too. But you should know I went through the same thing you did. There are only so many names for Movers - I wanted to be called Flash or Spark or Bolt but all of them are taken. So I got the second fiddle name.”  
  
“It could be worse.”  
  
“Could be worse,” Blink echoed. “So? What about your costume? Got any ideas?”  
  
“Nah. I prefer black, though. But I know heroes aren’t allowed to have black because it’s too edgy or whatever.”  
  
“Not really, usually as long as it gets paired with some bright neon color to increase the contrast. But yeah, all-black generally is a no-no. Too edgy, too imposing, too dystopian-soldier sort of thing.”  
  
“Or Dark Lord.”  
  
“Or a Dark Lord. I don’t think I’ve seen a Dark Lord before, though, not within heroes and certainly not within villains that want to be taken seriously.” Blink set down the mascara and winked a couple of times at the mirror, inspecting her handiwork. She turned to Matt. “Does this look okay?”  
  
He had no idea. “Sure.”  
  
“Great.”  
  
She began packing away her cosmetics into a little blue make-up bag, which she then tucked into a drawer on her desk. She instead pulled out a little felt pouch, tipped out its contents - little earrings and studs and whatnot fell out into her palm. She began inspecting them, holding them up to her ears as she leaned forward to look in the mirror.  
  
“How did your costume come about?” Matt asked.  
  
Electric-blue with sharp white lines, a similarly blue visor. Visibly armored in some places, but for the most part, it was skintight, accentuating Blink’s assets. She was sometimes visibly embarrassed when someone asked about her costume on the streets, which implied that it wasn’t really her personal favorite.  
  
“Ah, well,” Blink said. “My power creates a blue flash when I, well, Blink. So that’s what the color scheme is based on. It looks skintight, but the truth is that there are smooth plates underneath that act as armor. Chest, back, legs, arms, et cetera. Apparently it was tricky for PR to figure out how to armor my forearms, because I don’t wear gloves and the transition from armored to unarmored needed to look natural. So that I don’t look like Popeye the Sailor-Man.”  
  
“Huh, I didn’t know you had so much armor on you.”  
  
“Yeah, they don’t really want a repeat of 2007.”  
  
Ah, yes, good old 2007, when the local Parahuman Law Enforcement was revealed to be skimping on Junior Heat’s health and safety procedures. Also the fact that Alloy was working seventy hours a week on average, but mostly the health and safety part. The public wasn’t exactly happy about that. This led to the transfer of Duke from Geelong to Canberra and, Matt assumed, armored skintight costumes.  
  
“So if your costume has that much armor, does that mean that you don’t actually have double-dees like the public believes?”  
  
Blink apparently favored a more ‘natural’ style of makeup. It also meant it did little to conceal her mad blush. “I don’t,” she muttered.  
  
“I’m assuming that bust wasn’t an intentional design on your part, then.”  
  
“Definitely not,” she denied. “I’ve asked them to change it, and they say they’ll do it… and then they’ll tell me about how much more approachable it makes me and how it encourages new Triggers to join the side of the law, and then they don’t fix it.”  
  
“Well, you have to say they’ve got a point,” Matt said. “I joined because of your double-dees.”  
  
Blink stared at him in abject horror, and he barked out a laugh. She relaxed. “Thank God. I thought you were being serious.”  
  
“Nah. I just know more heroes would be willing to let me copy their powers,” Matt shrugged. “Besides. I was never interested in being a villain. I just… I just want to live my life, you know? But if I didn’t get allies quickly, I’d probably be brainwashed by some Master and turned into a puppet super-soldier.”  
  
Blink stared at him, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m glad you joined, Matt, despite how it could have been interpreted.”  
  
“You mean the way all of you weren’t particularly happy I’m as strong as I am?”  
  
Blink was silent for a moment. “…yeah. I know we weren’t particularly welcoming. I only realize this now that Stratton was being a douche like he often is, and bloating your reputation without your say-so, but back then it just seemed to us like you were trying to be better than us. Which… power-wise, you are. But it doesn’t feel good to have it rubbed in, either.”  
  
“I know. I know all too well.”  
  
Matt’s mind wandered to a few months ago, and he smothered it.  
  
“So. Juggernaut?”  
  
Blink straightened, faced with a topic safe to talk about. “Yeah. Wisp caught him yesterday, with Slipstick, the vigilante. They did well.”  
  
“And they’re going to be released again.”  
  
“Yes. There’s not much choice, you know. The only prison that can guarantee Parahuman containment is the Birdcage, and that’s the kind of place that mass-murderers like Gavel go.”  
  
Matt held his tongue. Gavel. Probably the most infamous Australian cape, ever. Confirmed fourteen villain kills, confirmed eleven hero kills, confirmed sixty-seven civilian kills, most of them the families of his victims. Indirectly, another two-hundred plus kills, when he allowed a villain to detonate explosives in the small town of Ashford.  
  
“If we had arrested someone without a Breaker state that renders them invulnerable, then we might be able to contain them in specialized cells in ordinary prisons. Juggernaut has an ability perfect for breakouts. We’d never be able to contain him, no matter how hard we tried, unless Alloy kept watch twenty-four-seven. Frankly, he has better things to do with his time.”  
  
Matt hummed in understanding.  
  
“So we slap a nice big fine on him, very discreetly on his private identity, leave him enough for a new start and hope he doesn’t try this shit again. We also ask if he wants to join Law Enforcement, he says no, then we say goodbye, if you pull this shit again we’re going to make you paupers and also slap legal restrictions on your civilian identity so you can’t even go to the supermarket without being frisked to make sure you haven’t stolen anything.”  
  
“They do that?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. I don’t recall any cases in Canberra, but I do know there have been some in Melbourne and Sydney. Murderers tend to go to the Birdcage almost immediately, but petty criminals just get things like house arrest and not being allowed to enter certain public places.”  
  
“Huh.” That was new.  
  
“The threat of being ostracized by the public every time they have to get searched at a supermarket, pharmacy, even a library, is usually enough to discourage them from misbehaving. That just leaves the people whose mind got warped by their powers - kleptomania, that sort of thing - and they tend to get therapy, paid for by the federal government. If they turn out okay, it gives the Police a chance to recruit them.”  
  
Blink put on a wristwatch, a simple one with little lines where the hours were but no other inscriptions, and stood up. She smiled apologetically. “It’s been good talking to you, Matt, but I think I should go now. I won’t be there on time otherwise.”  
  
“Oh. Alright.” Matt stood up, and slipped on his shoes as she put on a thin jacket. “I guess I’ll see you later?”  
  
“Yeah, you will.” Blink pulled on a pair of heeled boots.  
  
“I haven’t caught your name, I think.”  
  
She blinked. “You haven’t? Well, I’m Olivia. Nice to meet you, Matt.”  
  
Matt smiled. “You too.”

___________________________________________

  
Fucking hell.  
  
Olivia leaped, and Blinked. She flashed out of existence and, after a moment of lag, flashed into existence on the opposite rooftop, fires spiraling around it. She repeated this, looking around for people and listening for muffled shouts for help, in Narrabundah, a suburb in South Canberra, where apparently a new Trigger had made a right mess of things.  
  
She hadn’t even been an hour into her date with James. Not even a fucking hour until her work phone rang, and she picked up, and the team leader, Steadfast, had spoken.  
  
“We have a disaster situation. You need to come to Narrabundah immediately. Unknown Parahuman, likely a new Trigger, a Blaster-Shaker ability to launch and spread fire, it looks like.”  
  
“Boss,” Olivia said quietly, not using the cape name since people were listening in. “I requested today off since two weeks ago. I’ve been working every day. I’m on a _date_ , and I’m _enjoying myself for once_. You can’t just call me in because of a new… person.”  
  
“Blink, I’ll be frank. I don’t care about how you personally feel of this matter.” Olivia felt like she was being doused with cold water. “This new Trigger appears to be powerful and destructive. People have been burned alive, trapped underneath rubble as the foundation of buildings weaken from the heat. You are the best search-and-rescue member of the Heat. You are a hero, Blink, and you have a duty to protect and save the people. What you are currently arguing is immature and selfish. There is a car coming to pick you up and I expect you to follow the orders of your handler without argument.”  
  
Olivia made to retort, but Steadfast had hung up on her. She took a deep, deep breath.  
  
“Is something wrong?” James asked.  
  
“ _Fuck!_ ” she screamed, startling James and drawing dirty looks from nearby parents with young children or old people. She clenched her fists. “I’m… I’m sorry, James. I’ve been called in. It’s an emergency.”  
  
Strangely, James didn’t seem too surprised. “Okay. Do you think you’ll be coming back today, or…?”  
  
“I’d say possibly, but I also don’t want to get your hopes up only to crush them,” Olivia murmured. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”  
  
From where she was sitting in the little cafe, Olivia could see a black sedan - her usual - roll into the street around the corner, homing in on the position of her Tinkertech work phone. She sighed again. “I feel like such a shit. I’m so sorry, James.”  
  
“Like I said, it’s okay.”  
  
“If it means anything to you, I really enjoyed what time we spend together.”  
  
He smiled slightly at that. “Does that mean a second date is still on the table?”  
  
Olivia almost cried at his earnestness. She beamed back instead. “Definitely. And if I forget, remind me.”  
  
“I will."  
  
“Thanks for taking me out.” Olivia stood up, and James mirrored her. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and squeezed; James reciprocated the action. His hugs were kinda weird, not in a bad way, but she felt more secure in his grip than anyone else’s. She liked it. “I have to go, now.”  
  
“Stay safe, whatever it is.”  
  
“I will,” she promised. As the car arrived, she pecked him on the cheek, unfortunately missing the way he’d inevitably blush the way he did (and it was so cute) in favor of striding to the car, yanking the door open, and throwing herself on the seat and slamming the door shut.  
  
The driver, a woman in her early thirties by the name of Jessica, didn’t glance at her. “Please be gentle.”  
  
“Fuck gentle, and fuck this whole situation. What is even going on anyway?”  
  
“A new Trigger, it appears. A fairly powerful one at that, although pyrokinetics generally are. To summarize, the Trigger can create violent shockwaves followed by an even more deadly wave of fire. The combination of fire and concussive force has torn down several buildings in the area, including a school’s gymnasium, and has trapped about two dozen people under rubble. Steadfast and Alloy are doing their best to contain him, while Duke is already working search and rescue.”  
  
“What about Matt? He has power-copying powers, he can surely help Steadfast.”  
  
“He’s not cleared for deployment.”  
  
“Meaning Stratton is perfectly fine risking me or the original Steadfast, but not him.” Olivia took a deep breath again. This wasn’t Matt’s fault. Matt was a decent person, if a bit blunt and sarcastic. She knew this now.  
  
“You can’t blame everything on Stratton.”  
  
“Sure I can.”  
  
“Just like you, Captain receives orders from above. Very specific ones that he must fulfill, and the only real power he gets is what kind of interpretation he can make of these specific orders.”  
  
“Isn’t that what Hitler’s generals all said at the Nuremberg trials?”  
  
“Blink, Captain Stratton is not Hermann Goering. I know you’re upset, but you’re not being sensible.”  
  
“Fine,” Olivia huffed.  
  
They made a stop at PLE HQ, where Blink dressed in her costume in less than a minute, and a different car - a black SUV this time, instead of just a sedan - took her towards South Canberra, sirens on. Ordinary police cruisers escorted their vehicle, and it took less than ten minutes to reach Narrabundah, which generally took fifteen to twenty minutes from HQ by car. Jessica slowed down as the sound of explosions and the sight of smoke came closer.  
  
“Alright. I’m gonna go,” Olivia said, her grumble gone, as soon as she realized how widespread the fire was.  
  
“Be careful,” Jess said.  
  
“I will.”  
  
With a flash of light, Olivia disappeared from reality; a slight lag, another flash, and she reappeared on a tall rooftop where she could see things. Quite a bit had been burned down or knocked down. Casualties might be quite high, several dozen at the least. Thankfully it was a workday, and Narrabundah was mostly a residential suburb, meaning there shouldn’t be too many people still here. But that didn’t mean people were safe.  
  
She Blinked again, and again, until she found Steadfast standing in front of a police cruiser, which in turn was parked in front of a group of injured civilians.  
  
“Steadfast!” Olivia called.  
  
“Blink. You took your time. Quite a few more people may have been trapped because of that.”  
  
Olivia ground her teeth. “You can’t control how much time I spend in a car if I’m not driving it.”  
  
“I suppose you’re right. Regardless, time is of the essence, and this argument doesn’t help.” Steadfast gestured towards the west. “The explosions originated from that area. Duke has managed to find most of the people there, though we might be missing some; regardless, police with dogs have taken over that region due to the lowered threat. The Parahuman in question, codename Firestorm, slowly moved east, heading towards the school over there, although it didn’t pass through it directly, leaving minimal damage. Which, ironically, is a shame since the school is completely empty. It instead struck the houses around it. That area is high-risk. You will instead be looking in the areas that Firestorm just passed through. You will remain outside the range of their explosions, as they are deadly to those without a Brute rating. Is that clear?”  
  
“Yes,” Olivia said.  
  
“Go,” Steadfast urged, and Olivia Blinked away.


	4. Four - New Year, New Me

Rhys frowned, then glanced at his phone. He re-read the code he'd gotten from James, and punched that into the number pad next to the door. The door clicked open, and Rhys ducked through the doorway, walking up to the fourth floor.

His visits to James' place should have been often enough that he remembered the code by now, but he always forgot for some reason.

He came to 407 and knocked. After a few moments, the door was opened for him, revealing the tired, but happy face of Saori Itamoto, and she smiled when she saw him. "Rhys. Welcome. James was waiting for you."

Rhys smiled back. "Hi, Auntie."

He stepped through, and the short Japanese woman gave him a hug. It always felt nice, even though Rhys was considerably bigger than Saori herself and she couldn't really get her arms around him anymore. He squeezed back, and after kicking off his shoes at the entrance, he followed the woman towards the living room, then took a left, charging through James' door instead.

"Here's Johnny!"

"Fuck off, Rhys," James said, completely unperturbed. He stood up, and clasped hands with Rhys, and patted each other on the back.

"How've you been?" Rhys asked, and James shrugged.

"Pretty good, all things considered."

"Oh, yeah, you finally asked out Liv, didn't you?" Rhys smirked. "And how did that go?"

"She left me an hour in."

Rhys laughed. "Unlucky, mate. Why did she leave?"

James frowned slightly. "Workplace emergency."

"Ah, that Firestorm in Narrabundah." Rhys nodded.

"Yeah. Unless it's yet another huge coincidence," James shrugged. "How's work?"

"Shit," Rhys replied. He'd gotten himself a new job at a nearby pizzeria for the summer, but the place was sketchy as hell. Rhys was looking into alternative employment as a result of that.

"Boys," Saori called from the kitchen. "Do you want to be in charge of buying dessert? I forgot to."

"Sure," Rhys said with a smile.

"Once Liv comes," James amended, and Rhys glanced at him. "Said she'd be here by half-past-five, so… about twenty minutes from now."

"You invited her?"

"Something wrong with that?"

"Nah. Just didn't think you'd have the balls."

James snorted. "Stop trying to wind me up. It's not going to work."

"Anyway. You said you got the newest Smash Bros. game." Rhys made grabbing motions with his hands. "Give it to me."

James smirked as he booted up the Nintendo Wii, and proceeded to kick Rhys' ass. It was nice, having some mundane fun with sanitized violence. The twenty minutes flew by and there was a ring of the doorbell. Rhys and James glanced at each other, then with a grin, the former jumped off the sofa and ran to the door. James shook his head, and forced himself into a calmer walk, despite his inner excitement.

"Olivia! Why, you must have come to the wrong house," Rhys could be heard saying.

"Rhys, fuck off," James called. "Hey, Liv."

"James," Liv smiled. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Hey, we're friends."

"Just friends?" Rhys sang. "Maybe more than friends? Friends with benefits?"

"Christ. With that kind of attitude, no wonder Emily rejected you," Liv snarked, and Rhys pressed a hand to his heart. "Hi, Miss Robinson."

"Itamoto," Saori corrected, with a hint of a scowl. Liv cringed at her mistake, but Saori brightened immediately. "Or you can just call me Saori. Or Auntie, even. That's what Rhys calls me."

Liv smiled shyly. "Thanks, Auntie."

Saori's smile widened ever so slightly. "I'm going to need you kids to do something for me. I forgot to buy dessert, so I need you to pop over to the store and get something. Here." She slapped twenty dollars into Liv's hand. Liv blinked. "You seem a lot more trustworthy than the boys," she confided, and Rhys shot her a dirty look.

"I am trustworthy," Rhys said indignantly. "I have a five star rating on Airbnb."

"I'd give you three at most," Saori replied, and Rhys squawked. "Now get, all of you. Don't be out too late."

Liv stepped back outside, while Rhys grumbled and James smiled at her. Liv smiled back, then looked at each of them. "So, where do we go?"

"Market's about a fifteen minute walk from here," James said.

"And what should we get?"

"We should get a cheesecake," Rhys suggested, and Liv raised an eyebrow.

"You seem like a chocolate cake kind of person."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you're a child." Liv imagined Rhys smearing chocolate all around his mouth, and decided it was quite fitting.

"Wow, okay. I could make a joke about body image issues and celery sticks, but I suspect you'd lynch me if I tried."

"Probably would," Liv said breezily. "What do you want, James?"

He shrugged. "Cheesecake sounds good."

"What about your mum, then?"

He frowned slightly. "Also cheesecake? She's not picky, but she doesn't like things that are overly sweet."

"Alright. Since it was your mum who gave us this money, let's get something she'd like."

Rhys nodded at the wisdom of that statement while James made a noise of assent, and the three of them began walking towards the shopping center. The afternoon sun was still sizzling on their skin, and the light in their eyes. James covered his brow with his hand, staring into the still-blue sky. His eyes lingered on Liv a little longer than he might have liked. She dressed fairly simply - Liv clearly enjoyed matching various articles of clothing like coats and boots, but neither were particularly desirable in the summer - in a pair of denim shorts and a baggy shirt that reached down to her thigh, almost concealing her shorts. Her straight blonde hair had been recently brushed, and was loose, swaying at the small of her back. Her legs were toned and fairly muscular, not unlike those of a short-distance runner. She was… very attractive. James found himself swallowing discreetly as he forced himself to turn away from her frame, inspecting the empty fields of long gold-green grass that shivered under the light breeze.

"So," Rhys asked, "what does your job involve?"

"Serving coffee," Liv replied almost immediately, and James frowned, wondering if his guess had been incorrect.

"And you serve coffee in the evenings too?" Rhys asked. James didn't need to look at his face to know that he was wearing his trademark smirk.

"I work at a restaurant."

"Hm," Rhys hummed. "And you're absolutely certain your job doesn't involve searching and rescuing civilians trapped underneath-"

Liv's hand had snapped out and grabbed a fistful of Rhys' shirt at the collar, and she glared at him. James paused. It was mildly terrifying, but he could also see a measure of fear in Liv's eyes. Rhys had stopped as well, raising his hands.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone," Rhys said, sounding utterly unperturbed.

Liv slowly relaxed her grip on the fabric, letting her arm fall. She looked a little lost. "Please don't," she finally said, in a quiet voice. "It's… it's all I have."

Rhys blinked, taken aback by her reaction. "Seriously. I won't tell anyone. Neither will he, because he's a cape too."

Rhys pointed at James, and Liv slowly tracked his finger to look at James. James fidgeted uncomfortably under her disbelieving gaze. "Seriously? No shit?"

"No shit," Rhys said. "Not a villain, if that was what you were thinking."

"Thank God." Liv stared at James. "Who are you then?"

"Wisp," James and Rhys said at the same time, and Liv blinked. She glanced between them, seeming incredulous, but neither of them allowed their faces to betray their emotions.

"Now you're pulling my leg."

"Have you ever seen Wisp, Liv?"

"No, but, she's a girl, right?"

"We have our very own Tinker on the Canberra Heat, you know," James said casually. "Not that difficult to alter our voice."

Liv stared at him, then at Rhys, both of whom were doing their level best not to reveal any of their inner emotions on their face; eventually, Liv made a sound of disgust, threw her hands in the air and stomped away. Rhys and James glanced at each other and shared a smirk.

"Slipstick!" Liv whirled around suddenly, snapping her fingers and pointing at James in one fluid motion. James pointed at himself in a 'who, me?' gesture, and Liv nodded, more to herself than to him. "There have been relatively few vigilantes in Canberra, one of them was Fox and now he's gone. That must make you the one that's not gone." Her face fell. "I liked Fox. I wonder if he's…"

"He's not dead," James said, and Liv stared at him.

"How do you know?"

"Who do you think trained me?"

Liv continued to stare. Rhys, too. This was new information to either of them, it seemed.

"You got trained by Flying Fox?" Rhys said incredulously, taking care to keep his voice low, not that there was anyone around. James shrugged. "What's he like?"

"Pretty chill, most of the time," James said. "When he was actually training me, though, I contemplated suicide on more than one occasion."

"What, did he make you do a Rocky-style montage, or…?"

"He printed out worksheets and made me solve them," James said flatly, and Liv gave out a bark of startled laughter.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"I mean, it was only the one time, but…" James shrugged. "He also made me get a first aid certificate, and stuff like that."

"I mean, that's kind of a necessity," Liv said.

"Oh, yeah? What do they teach you in superhero school?" Rhys asked.

"They teach us combat training, first aid, de-escalation training." Liv ticked off her fingers. "They also teach us the correct way to coordinate with the police, and rescue crew."

"Do they teach you how to go on catwalks and smile for the cameras?"

Liv rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she grumbled. "Back when I had braces they didn't want me to smile with my teeth so that I wouldn't look too young and seem like the government is forcing children to fight. Which, I mean, is what they're doing, but they didn't want to give off that image."

"They've put a lot of effort into this," James commented.

"Wisp was made to wear raised platforms when she was younger so she wouldn't seem as short, as young," Liv added. "I think Alloy said that when he was younger they wanted him to make a full-face helmet so he'd look more like futuristic super-soldier than Spy Kids."

James snorted. "Spy Kids."

"Dude, you haven't seen pictures of Alloy when he was younger. He had these huge goofy front teeth," Liv giggled. "You _definitely_ got the Spy Kids vibe from him back then. Didn't help that he had a magnetic strip on his back that carried his Tinkertech lunch-box."

"Damn," Rhys laughed. "And he just showed them to you?"

"Alloy's a very laid-back person."

"Maybe I should pretend to be a cape and sign up," Rhys said, glancing at James. James gave him two thumbs up and an encouraging nod. "That way I can hear all these stories for myself."

Liv snorted. "We get at least one fake claim every day from a so-called Parahuman, you realize," she said. "Some shady hobo comes in claiming they've got future sight, or a kid thinks they've got magnetism powers when really they just don't shower often enough to the point their body's a bit sticky."

Rhys and James cringed at that.

"But maybe they'll believe you if I vouch for you," Liv smirked at Rhys. "What's your superpower?"

"I'm pretty good at pissing people off?"

"We already have Duke for that."

"Yeah, he's totally an asshole," Rhys said. "He's my personal hero."

"Of course he would be," Liv sighed.

The shopping district was sprawled out across several blocks, dominated by wide but squat, single- or double-level buildings that housed supermarkets, pharmacies, bookstores and other retail stores on the inside, and smaller stores - restaurants, fast food, and so forth - accessible from the outside. Many of hte smaller storefronts were closed for the national holiday, though the bigger ones were open well into the night. Not many shoppers today, on account of them probably being home and throwing a barbecue with their family or friends or something. Liv led them inside one of the buildings and frowned.

"All the bakeries and stuff are closed," she reported, and James looked around. That was true.

"Well, what can you expect?" He shrugged. "We'll just go to Coles."

They entered one of Australia's biggest supermarket chains, and went to the freezer aisles, looking for desserts. The frozen cheesecakes were kinda small for a special occasion like today, so Rhys voted to purchase a combo of apple crumble and vanilla ice cream instead. This was met with enthusiastic agreement from the other two, and they did precisely that, and Rhys snagged a bottle of Coca-Cola on the side. After going through the self-checkout, the three of them began to walk home, with Rhys pressing the ice cream to his cheek to cool himself down.

"You'll melt it unnecessarily," Liv pouted.

"We're gonna stick in the freezer for two hours anyway," Rhys retorted. "Nothing wrong with what I'm doing."

Liv harrumphed and turned away. Nobody was out today, although it didn't feel particularly lonely - rather, the atmosphere was relaxed. The gangs had been quiet, for maybe a week, almost two - people were in a celebratory mood and the three of them were free to discuss whatever they wished without fear of being overheard.

"So how long have you been working?" James asked. "You debuted pretty early, right?"

"March 2007, yes," Liv confirmed. "My legal issues were a clusterfuck, though, so it took like three months to officiate all of this stuff. In reality I've been with Parahuman Law Enforcement since December of 2006."

"Long career. Almost as long as Duke," Rhys mused. "How long has the Man in the Mirror been around?"

"Mirror Man debuted in… January of last year, I think? So he's been on the scene almost two years now," Liv said. "Wisp debuted about three months before Mirror Man did."

"So what does Mirror Man actually do?" Rhys asked. "I've read and heard about it… I don't really get it."

"He's a Thinker," Liv replied. "He can memorize and catalogue movements that other people make, hence the mirror theme. So he can watch a martial artist for a few minutes, and download all the information into his brain Matrix-style. Doesn't mean he knows how to fight, though, he knows the movements but he has to learn to string them together in the correct sequence."

"Damn," Rhys whistled. "That's actually pretty cool. I'm a fan."

"Doesn't apply to just combat, either. He's insanely skilled at origami now, for example," Liv said with a chuckle. "And he can do a perfect impression of the Terminator from the first movie. You know, the really jerky, early-CGI one? And Robocop, too. He likes to do impressions when he's drunk, it's pretty funny."

They returned to James' apartment, where Saori greeted them. The dining table was packed with finger foods she'd made; a platter of sashimi, tuna and salmon and kingfish, a bowl full of deep-friend shrimp, another of onion rings and the like. There were a few dishes that James had prepared himself before his friends came over. All in all, it was an impressive collection, especially from his mother, who was undoubtedly exhausted from her work life.

"Wow," Liv breathed. "This… wow."

"Looks great, Auntie," Rhys chimed in with a genuine smile. "Thanks for making it all."

Saori smiled, tired but pleased. "James helped."

Liv turned to James accusingly. "You cook?"

James shrugged.

"He'll probably cook something for you on Valentine's," Saori commented blandly, as if speaking of the weather. Rhys snorted violently as James turned red and Liv blanked as if her thoughts had been entirely replaced with an image of a pinwheel spinning. "I was thinking we could watch a movie or two after we eat. Then we can have noodles at midnight."

"Sounds great," Rhys said. "Can we watch Black Scion?"

"You want to watch a film that involves a kid inherits powers from a dying superhero that wears all-green and is called _Spirit_ , to fight Scion who turned evil because of evil Tinker shenanigans."

"Hell yeah."

Saori was speechless for a moment, then shook her head. "No. I call the veto on that one. I _do_ have a nice collection of Japanese and Korean horror films that I haven't gotten around to…"

Rhys gasped in not-so-mock horror, as James sniggered. "Do you not like horror films?" Liv asked.

"Masochists, the lot of you," Rhys scowled.

They settled on a compromise, eventually - Rhys disliked horror, especially the paranormal kind, but none of them were in the mood for Black Scion. Instead, they ended up watching a thriller, and a dark comedy afterwards to lighten it up a little. The food was good, and James felt himself happier than he could recall in recent memory. Liv was starting to become friends with his mother, Rhys was a strong, reliable presence as usual. When they neared midnight, Saori pulled up a clock on the Internet and they counted down together.

At zero, they began hearing fireworks popping in the distance. Saori and Rhys stared at the only couple in the room rather expectantly, while the couple in question fidgeted awkwardly.

Still, all was good.

* * *

Jason was a free man, but also a poor man.

He _would_ bunk with his mates, but a couple were still in jail, and the others had wives who no longer wanted anything to do with him. So, while it was less than ideal, he was bunking at his older sister's apartment. The apartment that was spartan, cold, and dark, lacking in any sort of homeliness. His sister, to his knowledge, rarely returned here. The only furniture she really had was a bed, a sofa-bed, and a work-station with a laptop and a few other things.

No TV to watch movies on, and sis wouldn't let him use her laptop to look at memes. Instead, all he had was awkward silence and a few tattered books on a shelf near the work-station that wasn't some sort of scholarly literature, like commentaries on communism and shit like that. No decorations whatsoever. Jason understood why his sister didn't have any little knick-knacks or mementos around, but that didn't mean he could tolerate the doom and gloom of this place.

"I'm bored," he said for the upteenth time.

"Read a book," Mags replied stiffly from the kitchenette. "God knows you need it."

"Ouch." Jason placed a hand on his heart. "All your books are boring, anyway."

"No, they're not."

"Yeah, they are. You don't even have any saucy romance novels."

"Those kind of books are for degenerates."

"Yeah, I mean, I agree, but that doesn't mean you can't be exciting in other ways." Jason stood up again and ran his eyes through the now familiar motion of inspecting the spines of the various books. "I mean, look at this. _War and Peace_? _The Brothers Karamazov_? Where's your sense of, you know, _fun_?"

"I don't care much for fun."

"That's because you've never experienced actual fun. You have to unwind, sister."

"Unwind, and end up an irresponsible, homeless criminal like you?"

Jason winced. "I… God. Why does everything have to be an argument with you? I'm just saying you're stressed and need a way to de-stress. That can't be that hard to understand, right?"

"I don't need any de-stressing," Mags said. "I'm doing fine."

"You don't even bother to use makeup to conceal the bags under your eyes, to show up at the workplace that gives those things to you. You're running on fumes, sis. This one time, you're definitely wrong."

Mags turned around and glared at him. "You don't know anything about me."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I do, considering I've lived together with you for…" Jason hummed. "Fourteen years?"

"Those fourteen years we spend together ended seven years ago. I've changed since then."

"Have you?"

That was a mistake.

Mags gripped her spatula tightly, until her knuckles turned white, her face similarly paling in rage. However, her mouth remained thinned and taut, and it was obvious she was restraining herself. "I have changed," she declared with some finality, and an undercurrent of anger.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Mags turned back to the cooking and didn't respond.

"I mean to say, you're not treating yourself enough. That's always been the case." Jason didn't really know how to word this so that Mags would listen to him. "You've done a good job so far, right? You deserve a reward. A bit of down-time."

"Perhaps. But I could also spend that time making sure people's lives are ruined by gangs." Mags began piling pasta into two identical bowls.

"Why are you home, then?"

"To check on you."

"What's the real reason?" Jason asked, teasingly.

"They gave me mandatory time-off."

"See? Your bosses clearly agree with me that you need some down-time."

"My boss is an idiot, and so are you." Mags pushed one of the bowls in front of Jason. Her cooking skills… they were as sharp as ever, it seemed. The spaghetti carbonara smelled very good. "Forgive me if I don't agree with your philosophies."

"Thanks for cooking, Mags."

Mags was silent for a bit, and began to eat instead of replying. Jason shrugged it off and tucked in himself. It tasted as good as it looked and smelled. Simple, but it had always been a favorite of Jason's as a kid.

"Your work schedule can't be healthy. You'll work yourself to an early grave."

"No, I won't. I get the recommended minimum amount of sleep for adults and get plenty of exercise. I also have a strict diet, with the necessary amount of nutrients for my body type."

Jason sighed. She didn't seem to consider the possibility of things like high blood pressure, stress, or even depression. He pointed the prongs of his fork at his sister, preparing his next statement within his mind while he swallowed a mouthful of pasta.

"I see your table manners haven't improved."

Jason set down his fork, then pointed his index finger at Mags. Mags stared at it, and rolled her eyes; Jason stifled a smile. Success! Mags was relaxing, even if just a little.

"You," Jason said.

"Me."

"You," Jason agreed. "You seem to be lacking understanding that a long life doesn't necessarily have to be miserable. You can live a long life while indulging in things that you enjoy doing or consuming. You're allowed to eat the chocolates that Duke probably gives you on Valentine's to get into your pants instead of throwing them out."

"I don't throw them out. That would be wasteful." She paused. "I give them to Alloy. He has a sweet tooth."

Jason palmed his face. "I cannot believe you."

"I don't particularly like chocolate, regardless."

"Yeah, yeah. You keep telling yourself that. Look, Margaret-"

Fuck, shit. Backing the hell out of there. Mags' face became stony when Jason called out her real name; he might have ruined all his progress in one single mistake. Jason hadn't spoken to Mags in a while, but he'd hoped that she might have gotten over that particular trauma _just a little bit_. Guess not.

"Sorry, Mags. I didn't mean to."

"Of course. I forgive you."

The way in which those words were spoken, so mechanical, so clinical. Jason suppressed the shiver that ran down his spine. Jason swallowed another mouthful as he considered what to say. The one good thing about trying to engage Mags in conversation was that she gave him plenty of time to think, without harrying him.

"Mags, the gangs seem to be more quiet these days. The last incident needing your attention was, what, that Firestorm guy? What happened with him by the way?"

"Don't know much about him," Mags admitted. "None of us could get too close because of his power, and we couldn't ID him. He disappeared in all the chaos. However, we did discover someone with similar powers had triggered in Mildura, and disappeared without a trace. It might be the same Parahuman."

"Mildura? That's quite the distance away."

"It is. It's strange."

"Well, anyway. The gangs have been quiet. Maybe they're in a celebratory mood too. I think it's okay if you relax a little bit, take some time off. Get some extra sleep if nothing else. I could take you out for dinner."

"And who will be paying for dinner?" Mags asked flatly. Right, Jason was penniless. Still, no amount of money was worth hearing Mags crack a joke. Jason snorted, and after a moment, forced himself to chuckle audibly in hope that she might join in. She didn't, but the corners of her lips did twitch. A partial success, then.

"You will, probably, but I can give recommendations on where to go. Do you like Indian?"

"Maybe some other time, Jason."

"Aw, come on. You always say that then hide inside a cupboard at the PLE headquarters so I can't remind you of it."

"I do like Indian."

Jason paused, his mind rapidly rewinding to about five seconds ago to make sure he heard that right. He plastered a smile on his face and beamed at her. "Great! Maybe we can go next week, or so."

"Might I make a request of you in turn?"

"Is my recommendation for decent food not worth dinner? Alright, shoot."

"I'd like you to join Parahuman Law Enforcement."

Jason paused. "I've received an offer already, but I also know that you've also heard me turn it down. Why ask again?"

Mags was silent. Instead she picked up the empty bowls, forks and spoons, stacked them, rolled up her sleeves and began to wash them. Jason stared at surface of the circular table, which was very small - his legs and Mags' legs were constantly getting tangled up - and covered in some places in minuscule drops of water after Mags had wiped it down to get rid of dust an hour ago. She finished scrubbing the dishes with the green side of a sponge and put them to dry on a drying rack.

Silence stretched.

"I'm lonely," she admitted.

Jason fought not to react. Confessions from his sister… more people had stepped on the surface of the Moon than Mags had admitted to any of her internal troubles. Jason slowly looked up at her, and left his stool to stand in the doorway of the kitchen.

To the public, she was the paragon of justice, representing the strength of the law. Her power - to stand Steadfast in the face of all adversary - was proof of that. Now, she stood, slightly hunched over the sink, her rolled-up arms folded under her chest, tight enough that it could be interpreted as hugging herself, her somewhat bland brown hair obscuring parts of her face. Under the shitty incandescent lamp of Mags' shitty apartment, she looked even more colorless, lifeless, than she already was.

A sudden cheering from outside startled both of them. Jason leaned back to check on the wall-clock that hung above the doorway he was standing beneath. "It's midnight," he said to Mags, who nodded once. "Happy New Year, sister."

"Happy New Year."

The figure covered in ill-fitting jeans and her bland, orange-and-white striped shirt remained a little hunched. Mags was a tall woman. Not as tall as Jason's six-foot-two, but not that far off either. The attempt to shrink in on herself was made all the more obvious.

"Hey, sis."

Mags' brown eyes peered out from under the loose strands of hair.

"You know, you're a bit of an uptight cunt-" Jason watched her grimace a little at his crudity, "but you're my sister. And the one person that I trust the most in the whole world."

She raised an eyebrow. "Even more than your jewelry-robbing friends?"

"Even more than them," Jason confirmed. He stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around his sister's frame. Mags stiffened under his touch, but slowly wrapped her own arms around his waist, the grip gradually tightening until Jason felt like he was a lifeguard being clung to by a drowning person. "You will always be my hero. Even if you didn't work for the government and wear costumes and punch bad guys in the face, you'll be my hero."

Mags was deceptively silent, burying her face in his neck.

"I love you, sis."

The dam broke, and Jason allowed Mags to sob into his shoulder. They stood there, for a long, long time as Mags struggled to empty herself of all the emotions that she'd kept bottled in. Jason could feel his shirt staining with her tears and snot, but he remained there. Like Mags had been for him and for the public under a different name, a bulwark to stop getting washed away by all the badness in the world.

The way they stood, under a dirty incandescent lightbulb, with Mags crying into his shoulder - it reminded him of a similar event from a long time ago.

 _Oh, yeah_ , Jason remembered. _It was right after sister dear took a fucking axe to daddy dearest's skull_.


	5. Hell's Bells

Aman smoothly turned a corner on his Tinker bike. Silent save for the humming of the electronic motors, it sounded remarkably like a sci-fi spaceship, of which he was proud. He'd put literal months into just the _design_ of this vehicle, making it look specifically like what people of the 50s might have imagined a futuristic motorcycle to look like; it was sleek and had glowing neon blue lines on a black background, yet still retained that somewhat retro feel. His greatest creation, probably, and a lot of people on the Internet tended to agree.

The streets were empty tonight, although he suspected that would change soon enough in maybe fifteen minutes. The digital clock on the corner of his HUD had his 00:00, January 1st; the fireworks were still going on, but when that ended, people would start driving home. Police presence was mostly diverted to keep the attention the holiday crowds, so heroes - only himself and Mirror Man for tonight as far as he knew - were on the empty streets. Currently, he was cruising down Northbourne Avenue, the main north-south street that bisected North Canberra, generally just waiting for incoming calls.

"This is console to all personnel; Happy New Year."

Aman smiled under his visor. "Happy New Year, console."

Various greetings flooded through the police. Aman opened up the throttle a little bit, and the glowing lines brightened a little as he picked up speed and the wind began to whistle through the crevices of the bike and his power armor. Aman, as a Tinker, specialized in alloys; his motorcycle and armor were made from a . That was where he got his name from. He still kinda regretted that choice - he wished he'd rebranded to 'Electrum' or some other pretty cool name when he turned 18.

His radio crackled.

"Console to Charlie-Bravo One Seventeen. Commence radio check."

"Got you loud and clear, dispatch," Aman replied.

"We've received reports of explosions further north. Sending the location now. Can you get there immediately?"

"Roger that, console." A virtual map flashed in front of his eyes as the bike began rolling faster, well over double the speed limit on these roads. It was far north, towards Killshot's territory. Didn't necessarily mean it was Killshot's gang causing trouble, though - it could just be drunk partygoers in the region. Better to be safe than sorry, in any case, and despite Tinkertech-led improvements in personal protective equipment for emergency services, he didn't want to risk un-powered law enforcement in a possible Parahuman confrontation.

Killshot. The man - probably barely out of his teens - had gotten much bolder about two weeks ago, when he killed some of his own henchmen in an attempt to murder the vigilante Slipstick. This spoke to Aman of either a massive mistake that Killshot had made likely under the influence, or Killshot was revealing his true colors as a remorseless sociopath. He allowed his autopilot to take over the driving as he made sure his Tesla Rifle was on the correct, non-lethal settings. He also had a secondary weapon, which was totally a lightsaber but the Image Department made him call it a plasma blade because of possible copyright infringement.

Even with the speed he was going at, he'd have about five minutes until he reached his destination. He wondered how his lightsaber would compare to other lightsabers that Tinkers had built. After all, it was a piece of iconic pop culture - every Tinker tried building one. Apparently a rogue Tinker organization in North America sold 'Lightsabers', but they could technically be called villains so he doubted they care about petty things like copyrights. Then again, Toybox was notoriously naive when it came to actual combat, from what Aman had seen of them on the rare occasions they came to Endbringer fights, so he'd take their lightsaber specifications with a grain of salt.

A secret between many of the premier Tinkers in the world was that there was a website specifically dedicated to Tinkers. Designed by a Canadian software Tinker, the only way one could access it was to literally hack into it and claim one's right of passage. Of course, Aman was pretty sure that the website could easily eject him if it wanted to, considering that big-name Tinker villains had repeatedly tried and failed to breach the security system, and capes of the CUI couldn't get in either. The website only allowed heroic, rogue, or relatively less evil Tinkers to 'hack' it.

He typed using his eyes, and sent off a message to this hidden forum, asking who had the best melee weapon of all Tinkers (specifically lightsabers). He was sure Armsmaster from the Protectorate would write an essay nobody asked for about his in-development nanothorn machine or whatever he called it, and Dragon - who moderated this forum - would politely tell him to calm down and all the other Tinkers would jeer the two of them. That's how it usually went, anyway. Still, Alloy did get some genuinely good ideas from this forum from time to time; with Dragon policing the website (which probably protected itself somehow, as well) the Tinkers were comfortable sharing their ideas without fearing them falling into the wrong hands.

Enough of that. Aman shook his head. He had a job to do.

"Console to Charlie-Bravo One Twelve, there are reports of…"

Aman mentally tuned out the radio chatter as he rushed to his destination, but worry gripped his heart as more and more reports started coming in.

"Console to Charlie-Bravo One Thirteen, life-threatening injuries on…"

"One Twelve to Console, we're witnessing Parahuman conflict in…"

Aman looked sharply to his left as something crashed violently into something else, and screams pierced the air. He swung his bike around, coming closer to inspect the scene. Intel was vital for any operation, even - hopefully small enough to be - a skirmish, like this one. Killshot, riding on the back of a truck, driving in a convoy.

Aman scowled. Killshot, a literal human slingshot, could 'charge' objects and launch them at speed, though only in a single selected direction and there was a limit to both the weight of and the speed at which things were launched. Heavier objects took longer to 'charge', with the upper limit being about a large family vehicle, but that was usually more than enough to cause a lot of mayhem.

His gang was trailing him in convoys. At least one man on each truck was armed with an assault rifle - Aman didn't know what kind, he'd never been interested in firearms beyond the things he saw in science fiction - and the rest with melee weapons, usually bats or crowbars, occasionally wrapped with barbed wire. This was obviously an attempt on their part to aggressively expand their territory. They were fighting against a minor Vietnamese gang that occupied these suburbs, which were predominantly Asian immigrants.

The Vietnamese were both numerically inferior and lacking in firepower, and they cowered behind whatever cover they could find. If they were unlucky, they had someone's Nissan or Ford fly straight through their cover and into them.

Aman ground his teeth. Throwing himself into the middle of a firefight like this was never ideal, but it probably had to be done. He doubted the Vietnamese would attack him on sight, but Killshot's gang certainly would, trying to protect their head murderer from the law. Despite his Tinkertech, having an SUV thrown into him at a couple hundred kilometers an hour would not be pleasant. His faceplate expanded with a series of mechanical clicks, going from just a helmet with a visor into something that covered his whole face.

He blinked at his HUD and his sirens blared.

The combatants jolted as Alloy's Tinker-cycle glowed bright with LEDs, and Alloy drew his Tesla Rifle, controlling the movements of his bike with his legs while bringing the rifle up to his shoulder to aim, like a sharpshooter in a Spaghetti Western. His HUD pinpointed the gang members that were raising ranged weapons at him, the greatest threats. That - that was good, actually. Most bullets wouldn't pierce his armor, barely leave a scratch in the paint, and since this was a clear display of aggression he wouldn't have to waste time issuing warnings.

He pulled the trigger once, twice. Coordinating with his helmet, the rifle smoothly nailed the ones that were raising their own rifles; a pulse of pale violet light struck each of them, not quite unlike the aura that Steadfast gained in her Breaker state. The light struck the gang members and they dropped like they'd had their strings cut; they forcibly relaxed the muscles, although it wasn't really unconsciousness. He couldn't afford to use his zapping option, in case it accidentally caused them to squeeze the trigger while being electrocuted.

Alloy turned on his Vector Prediction Software, a program that was surprisingly useful in a city that had quite a few capes that revolved around moving objects or themselves in straight lines - Killshot, Red Baron, Flying Fox, Juggernaut, even Sandstorm to a lesser extent. As Killshot charged up some poor civilian's Honda Jazz, his HUD gave him the probable vectors at which the car would fly; synced to his motorbike, the autopilot deftly dodged the flying Honda and raised his weapon to fire at Killshot. Killshot stumbled back, and fell off the cargo compartment just as the violet light streaked over his head. Alloy wondered if Killshot was always so criminally lucky.

Alloy hopped off his bike, and bike's autopilot rolled away to a safe distance, close enough for him to quickly hop back on if he needed to make chase. He took down three more gangsters who thought it might be wise to try and take potshots at him. Alloy was the superhero that everyone approached. Alloy was the one who did PR rounds, partially because Duke was an ass and so was Steadfast and Mirror Man was pretty shy. Despite being already overworked, Alloy made certain to dedicate some of his spare time to making friends with civilians, making sure that he gathered a reputation as a nice, friendly, and patient person. Alloy did his best to emulate Hero, with a bit of Legend sprinkled in.

And when usually passive people got angry, well, you knew you'd fucked up.

"Enough!" Alloy roared, his modulator lowering the pitch of his voice and making it reverberate in the surroundings. The gangsters hesitated, both sides, looking warily at him. "I don't know what's going on here, but I have a suspicion you haven't either. Have you looked around since you began this fight? Have you _seen_ the damage you've caused?"

Silence, and a few of the braver ones looked around, examining the damage. Buildings had been turned into colanders from all the bullet-holes they'd accumulated, unless they'd simply been reduced to rubble courtesy of Killshot. Weak pleas for help, ragged breathing in the distance, and ambulance sirens filled the night.

"Throw down your weapons. You've caused enough pain for one night - for the whole year, even," Alloy continued, channeling his simmering anger into his voice. "Pick up a shovel or use your bare hands if you have to. You're going to help me rescue these people from the rubble you buried them under."

Alloy, his heart beating wildly, clipped his Tesla Rifle onto his back. Nobody raised their weapons at him - that was good. He stalked over to the nearest pile of rubble, from which he thought he could heat cries of help, and began pulling off concrete and steel from the pile. Nobody moved, until at last, one of the young Vietnamese men, still shaking somewhat, lowered his weapon to the ground and began to help.

And then two more men came to join him. Alloy smiled under his mask in relief, as-

He turned around, shoved the closest man out of the way, and dodged himself, as the same truck that Killshot had fallen out of was catapulted at him at ridiculous speeds. It bounced over the mountain of rubble and glanced off another, still-intact apartment block. One of the Vietnamese gang members that had come to help him, had been struck by it, his body horrifically mangled after being trapped between the truck and the rubble.

Alloy didn't get a chance to scream in frustration as Killshot threw at them a handful of shitty homemade caltrops; their material quality didn't stop them from embedding themselves in the flesh of unarmored young men, who screamed, and rending their flesh with their barbs. A few pinged off his armor, and Alloy stood, his motorcycle coming back to him. His HUD highlighted Killshot attempting to launch a small car at his bike, and he realized that if his bike moved, one fallen gangster would be crushed by the car.

Regretfully, he ordered his bike to stand steadfast and increase it's shield to maximum capacity. A faintly glowing gold dome shimmered into existence, and shattered like glass as the car was thrown into it. As advanced as the forcefield was - capable of deflecting shots from even Tinkertech weapons - it wouldn't hold up to one-point-five tons of steel crashing into it at speed. His bike, being made of one of his alloys, would hopefully be salvageable; if not, then, well… he had more important things to focus on right now anyway.

Alloy charged forward at Killshot, and unslung his rifle again. No more. He changed the settings from the pale-violet relaxant shot to launching orbs of electricity. It would drop them, hard, and it would definitely hurt. He wasn't feeling too sympathetic towards them, though. He raised his rifle to bear, and fired; Killshot ducked behind one of his men, allowing them to be electrocuted. A cruel master; Alloy couldn't understand why they'd choose to follow him. In any case - Alloy's train of thought was momentarily interrupted as he ducked out of the way of Killshot launching industrial rivets, the kind that they used for bridges and the like, however the hell he got his hands on them - and raised his weapon again. He wouldn't miss this time.

He was distracted by a clawing mass of hands erupting from the concrete beneath him and grabbing at his armor.

"What the f-?" Alloy ripped his leg away, and to his horror, some of the hands that had grabbed at his boots had been ripped out of the ground like rather bloody tubers. More hands erupted from the ground like tortured souls trying to drag him into the depths of hell himself. He ignored them and focused again on Killshot, and his eyes widened. Killshot was charging a truck with his power. His Vector Prediction Software issued bright red warnings.

Alloy launched himself to the side as best as he could. The hands, power armor or not, hampered him because there was just so many. The horror-movie arms were crushed into red mist as the truck hurtled through them; Alloy's legs were caught by the front bumper, and he didn't have time to scream as he was sent spinning through the air and crashing onto someone's balcony. He felt lightheaded. Looking at his HUD, the armor plates and the servos on the legs, the right leg especially, had sustained critical damage. Probably broken inside, too.

"Alloy?" a terrified voice whispered. Alloy turned, to find an Asian woman - a bit hard to make out any more than that in the dark - beckoning him. To come inside. "You need to hide, right?"

Alloy nodded dumbly, and began to crawl himself towards the sliding glass door. There was no way that Killshot wouldn't notice this, but it would be easier to fortify himself inside a mansion than if he were alone on the street. Or it would've been, but the mansion was undoubtedly full of civilians who would be caught in the crossfire. Alloy ground his teeth. Then again, with the state of his legs, there was no possibility of jumping down from a third-floor balcony unharmed. He was stuck in the mansion either way, so he might as well find a defensible spot.

"I can't thank you enough," Alloy whispered to the woman as she shut the glass door behind them and locked it, as useless as it might be. "But you will be in danger."

"I… I'm in danger anyway," she replied, but she was still terrified.

"Here." Alloy handed her his lightsaber. "It's my l- plasma-sword. Even though it's Tinkertech, there's only two settings with the little button where your thumb goes, so you should be able to use it. It will cut through steel like it's butter, so do not point it at yourself or anywhere near yourself, okay?"

The woman nodded furiously and clutched the weapon to her chest. Alloy didn't like the way her hands shook violently with a lightsaber in her hands, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. He'd trust her to have enough sense with it. His armor auto-injected a mild cocktail of Tinkertech, consisting mostly of a regenerative serum and painkillers, into his bloodstream. He took a deep breath and allowed his lower face-plate to open up, revealing his mouth. He coughed briefly as the sudden lack of air filter brought him a lot of dust and all sorts of unpleasant smells.

"I can't move anymore. Not well, nor quickly. I'm going to barricade myself in your living room, and I'm going to shoot anyone that comes through the door. You stay in your bedroom or your bathroom and don't come out if you can help it. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," she whispered.

"Good. Stay safe."

Alloy winced as he adjusted his position to better use the Tesla Rifle, aiming it at the front door. He could hear the villain's foot-soldiers storming up the stairs of the apartment block. He cocked his head towards the window as he heard Killshot speak.

"Alright, tough guy," Killshot said, sounding almost bored, the piece of shit. "I'm giving you one minute to crawl out of the room you're in. I don't wanna kill you, really. That'll bring down even more heat on my head than there already is. But I don't know if you're gonna do some Tinker shit to hurt us, so we're gonna take hostages and shoot them through the head unless you comply. You heard that?"

Killshot, according to his HUD, his voice was coming from almost directly beneath the balcony he'd crashed into. Maybe if he could overcharge the Tesla Rifle and throw it outside, it might create a blast big enough to turn him and his immediate surroundings into plasma. Would definitely end up in a lot of paperwork, but surely HQ would understand that he didn't have much of a choice. Either give himself up, or let hostages be hurt or killed.

He began ripping away at his armor, and froze, as phantom hands began to wrap around his ankles. From the locked bathroom, he heard sudden screaming. The woman that he'd lent his sword to, rushed out of the locked room, covered in blood and hands that were still clutching at her legs and arms. A creepy-as-fuck power, and he could understand how the woman might be feeling. He, with all his training, was unnerved.

"Calm down!" Alloy barked, making the woman flinch. He felt bad about shouting at her, but this was not what he needed right now. She trembled in obvious fear, and Alloy slowly relinquished the Tinker rifle from his grip and dropped it on the floor beside him. Then he pushed it away from his reach, to the best of his ability. The hands that were sprouting beneath the woman's feet like grotesque tendrils retreated. Another pair of arms rose up from the floor and picked up the rifle.

Alloy gave a grim smile. "Best not. You think I wouldn't have any security features on that thing? It's locked to my DNA, checks my pulse to make sure I'm not unconscious or dead so that it's not being used against my will. You don't want to trigger the self-destruct, now, do you?"

The hands hesitated, and they put it down. Alloy breathed a sigh of relief. The woman backed away, slowly, but the owner of the weird hands didn't seem to care. In unison, all the hands that weren't tying him down pointed at the door. Telling him to exit.

Behind his visor, Alloy closed his eyes and fought not to sigh. His mouth remained a grim line.

"How do I have your assurances that the hostages you've taken will be released without harm?" Alloy tried.

Two arms made a 'what can you do?' gesture. Infuriating prick.

"I want to be certain that you won't harm anyone."

After a moment of silence, Killshot yelled from outside. "Hey, mate, I dunno if you've noticed, but you're really not in a position to negotiate!"

Fucking… Alloy briefly fantasized throttling Killshot, with his power-armored hands. Maybe throw him into a truck at two hundred kilometers an hour to see how he would like it. Alloy grimaced he sat up, and began to drag himself to the door, over-playing his injuries and taking it real slow. It wasn't even that difficult - with the lower portion of his armor effectively dead weight, it was pretty damn hard to move. Buying more time for help to arrive…

Looks like it worked.

Sounds of shouting, guns firing, dominated his hearing for about thirty seconds. Then the trucks started up again, and began peeling away. Meanwhile, ambulance sirens sounded, higher-pitched than usual as the sound dopplered closer. Thank God. Alloy slumped in relief.

"Sir? Alloy?"

Alloy allowed the cameras on his visor to turn a little to get a view of whomever had said so. A girl, dressed in baggy black pants and a black hoodie, both several sizes too large for her. She was wearing a scarf around her lower face, covering everything beneath her eyes. The voice sounded familiar.

"Blink," Alloy grunted. "How… how are the hostages?"

"I pulled them out, sir. They're hysterical, but unhurt."

"Thank fuck," Alloy gasped out. "Did you chase them off on your own?"

"No. I had Slipstick helping."

"Good, good. I'm afraid my legs are broken." Alloy looked at her. "Thank you for rescuing me, Blink."

Behind her hood, she blinked in surprise. "No - I just did my best…"

"You're a great hero," Alloy said, even as his adrenaline began to wear off, leaving him in what was probably shock. "I… I might fall unconscious. A mixture of shock and Tinkertech painkillers that I injected into my bloodstream. I'm sorry, but…"

"No, no, it's okay. The police will be arriving very soon with ambulances," Blink reassured him. "Will you be okay here? Should I move you into a more comfortable position?"

Alloy cracked a smile at that. "That won't be necessary. Besides, I don't think you could lift me up in my armor."

Blink chuckled awkwardly. "That's true."

"Go help the others in whatever capacity you can, Blink. And again, thanks for helping me."

Blink gave him two thumbs up and disappeared in a flash of pale blue light. Alloy sighed.

What the hell had gone wrong?


	6. Call to Arms

“I’m back.”

James turned to see Liv, who had dressed in her armored costume, instead of the hoodie that he wore over his costume when he went out to patrol. The hoodie itself was not armored, and since Liv was capable of traveling very, very quickly anyways, she had gone back to HQ and retrieved her costume.

“Is Alloy safe?” James asked.

“Yeah. Hospital.”

“Are they going to call a healer for him?”

“He’s arguably the most powerful member of the Canberra Heat,” Liv said. “What do you think?”

“Going to call OD, then?” he asked, referring to Australia’s most famous healer who only charged a couple thousand dollars per healing. Which, when considering the kind of injuries he healed, was probably cheaper than arranging for surgery and life support and several years of physiotherapy.

“Definitely.”

* * *

Alloy lay in a reinforced hospital bed, as two men stepped inside his room.

They were known as Three Dimensions and Other Dimension, the teleporting healer duo. 3D was known for being _incredibly_ laid back, like, permanently-stoned levels of laid back, and OD was known for being a weirdo. No other way to put it.

Neither of them really had costumes. 3D wore an olive tee, a pair of cargo pants that had zippers around the knees that could turn into a pair of shorts, and a pair of thongs; he wore a pair of those cheap 3D glasses, with the red and blue lens, and had a frizzy afro. That was the extent of his ‘costume’. OD was wearing a tank-top with a pair of denim shorts, a pair of pink thongs, some sunglasses, and the only indication that he was a cape was the fact that he was wearing six wristwatches of various sizes, colors, and brands on each arm.

“Mister Alloy,” OD said.

“OD,” Alloy replied. He pronounced it like ‘odd’, which was a running joke in the community. Odd and Edd.

“Boy, these don’t look good,” Other Dimension said, staring at his legs. “It looks almost as though a Striker with slingshot capabilities threw a ute into your legs.”

Alloy stared at him.

“Alright, _sheesh_ , tough crowd.” OD stepped forward. “Now, if you’d look into my eyes, please.”

Alloy knew that eye contact wasn’t necessary, but it did usually distract his patients from the rather disturbing sensation of everything moving back into place. Alloy looked into OD’s John Lennon-style sunglasses and wondered if anyone had ever bothered to tell him it really didn’t fit his square face shape. Or maybe he had been told and simply didn’t give a damn.

OD sucked in a breath, and bellowed, “ _the power of Scion compels you!_ ”

Then he bitch-slapped Alloy across the cheek. Dazed, Alloy raised a hand to his face, and realized that OD had just slapped a band-aid onto him.

“There ya go, you’re all fixed.”

Alloy glanced down at his legs, which looked exactly like it had been two and a half hours ago. 3D got his name because he was a teleporter and he could travel ‘between the three dimensions’. Other Dimension got his name because he had ‘dominion over time’ - he could effectively hit the ‘undo’ button on real-life objects. A second trigger had removed his Manton Effect and now he went around offering his services to ‘reset’ injuries back to health.

“Thanks,” Alloy said weakly.

“No problem. That’ll be two thousand dollars, thank you very much.”

“I’ll… have my employers make a transaction.”

“Counting on it!” OD called as he waved cheerily and stepped out of the room. 3D gave a lazy salute to the Tinker and followed him out.

No matter how many times he saw them, the bizarreness of the situation never failed to amaze him.

* * *

“What about us?” James asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What are we going to do?” James said. “How do we deal with Killshot next time? It’s clear he has no regard for human lives apart from his own. We can’t expect him to just surrender, or he’ll murder people to get his way.”

“Yeah,” Liv murmured. “I’m sure Alloy will have something to say about Killshot when he meets the higher-ups.”

“And the new cape that makes arms,” James shuddered. “Or maybe body parts in general. Alloy did say the cape could hear him talk. Maybe he made some eyes and ears where people couldn’t see them.”

“Ew,” Liv muttered. “But yeah. You’re right. A Master-Shaker combo? With a dose of Thinker thrown in because they can project their senses as well, if what you raised is true. Damn.”

“What?”

Liv sighed. “Nothing. Just thinking about the near future. The Bloody Baron made his move on South Canberra, he’s pushing into Sandstorm’s territory. Do you remember the explosive Shaker from a few days ago? Looks like he’s joined the Baron’s gang. It’s… not ideal.”

“That one?” James murmured. “Only Steadfast or Alloy can reliably fight him.”

“Yeah.” James watched Liv chew her bottom lip. “There is one other possibility…”

“Hm?”

“…never mind. It wouldn’t work out, Stratton wouldn’t allow it.” Liv cocked her head. “Could you repeat that please, console? …understood.”

“Wish I had me a fancy earpiece,” James said.

Liv stared at him weirdly and apparently elected to ignore him. “Console wants me to go to HQ. We’ll probably have a briefing there, with all the heroes. I was also asked to extend the invite to you.”

“Alright, sure,” James shrugged. “I’ll come.”

“Thanks, Slip,” Liv smiled. Though her eyes were hidden behind a blue visor, they were probably scrunched up the way they always did when Liv smiled. “How fast can you move?”

“Ehh,” he replied.

“...okay. Here, let me carry you.”

James blinked, then nodded as Liv picked him up with a grunt - God, she was strong. James wasn’t exactly a lightweight, and intellectually he knew that Liv was very fit, but he hadn’t really know just how strong. She carried him on piggyback and Blinked away; that was surreal. James squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he wouldn’t get sick.

“How long does it usually take you?” James asked.

_Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink_. While the individual jumps weren’t that far, Liv could string them together rapidly; barely a heartbeat in between each jump. “Uh,” Liv spoke funnily, her voice cutting out every time she jumped, “not that long, honestly. Maybe five minutes from here to there?”

“That’s about a quarter of the time it’d take you to get there by car,” James said, amazed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty handy. Shame I can’t use it to sleep in on school days, though.”

James elected not to talk the rest of the way either. The monosyllabic conversation was really starting to make him feel dizzy. He accidentally opened his eyes when he felt a jolt, and realized that Liv was jumping off the edge of a tall office building, and that definitely didn’t help. He forced himself to grab tighter onto Liv and stared up at the sky in case he accidentally opened his eyes again.

“Almost there,” Liv reassured him, and they landed with a thud on concrete. James slowly opened his eyes to find Liv standing in front of the PLE HQ with him still on piggyback. He felt a wave of relief as his feet touched the ground. “Sorry, was it a rough ride?”

“No,” James lied.

Liv hummed, amused, and began walking inside. The officers in the lobby gave James a calculating glance, but otherwise ignored him. Liv grabbed his hand and dragged him into an elevator to the third floor; they came to a half-full conference room. There was Mirror Man, Duke, Wisp, Steadfast, a man who seemed kinda similar to whatever was visible of Steadfast, and a teen with a mask that James had never seen before. There was also two officer-captains, and Officer Stratton, the liaison for Parahuman Law Enforcement, Canberra.

Stratton had been appointed to his position when his predecessor got kicked off after the 2007 fiasco. He was - in a word, more _trustworthy_. While he had a bit of a beer gut now he wasn’t performing field work, he still retained his somewhat babyish face, his bright, wide eyes, and his near-permanent, jovial smile. He was a people person, easily cracking jokes on the microphone and capable of directing away from prying ears without making it too abrupt and unnatural. Of course, his position wasn’t entirely ceremonial, so he was also in charge of the Heat.

“Ah, Slipstick!” Stratton smiled, holding out his hand. His grip was firm, and under the growing layer of fat James could detect a lot of old strength. “A pleasure to meet you here.”

“Likewise,” James said neutrally, before stepping back to stand beside Liv and behind Wisp’s chair.

Steadfast nodded politely at James - that was more of a reaction than he got most of the time - and the man beside her, wearing a domino mask, smirked and winked at him conspiratorially. The teenager gave him a brief grin and raised his hand; James wiggled his fingers at him. He was completely disregarded by Duke, while Mirror Man, notoriously shy, actually turned to him and spoke.

“Hello,” he said, and James was surprised to realize how high-pitched his voice was, as well as how short he was - a couple of inches shorter than him, actually. “It’s nice to meet you. Slipstick, yes?”

“Hey, and yes,” Slip answered, holding out his hand. Mirror Man reciprocated the action, but James’ attention flagged something in the movement. He had suddenly straightened a little, leaning forward slightly, and his arm angled unnaturally - was, was Mirror Man actually so socially awkward that he had to copy someone else’s handshake? Then James felt bad at thinking that, and amended in his head that someone with his power should take every advantage they found, if only just because they could.

“I am a fan of yours,” he said. “I have watched you fight in a few online videos. Your movements remind of Flying Fox, when the man was still active.”

“Ah - yeah,” James chuckled. “I did know him for a bit. He taught me how to throw a punch, things like that.”

Mirror Man nodded slowly, digesting that. “I did receive an opportunity to watch Flying Fox’s choreography in person, once. It was difficult to resist, the movements were strangely beautiful. While I burned it into my memory, I’m sad to say that without his rather unique power, I am unable to perform them myself.”

James nodded. Fox’s movements were difficult to replicate if one didn’t have his range of three-dimensional movement. At around that moment Alloy stepped into the conference room, sans his shiny fuck-off gun, looking rather bewildered. Apparently getting healed by 3D and OD was an… experience, from what James had heard.

“Alloy,” Stratton acknowledged. “We’re all here, then. Let’s begin the briefing.”

He turned to the projector behind him, which was showing the first slide of a rather generic power-point which had probably been thrown together very quickly. Stratton hit one of the keys to reveal a satellite image of Canberra, and another click put up semi-transparent colored shapes representing the territories of the various gangs. James wondered if their size was a recent development, or if the police’s attempts to contain them had never been particularly effective.

“Beginning on the night of New Year, the police was flooded with calls regarding explosions,” Stratton said. “This occurred in North Canberra, thanks to whom we later discovered was Killshot, and in South Canberra, orchestrated by the Red Baron. While everyone was distracted with festivities, the two gangs coordinated to claim as much territory as possible, while creating as much mayhem as possible. Civilian casualties are in the hundreds, and deliberately, we think, heavy casualties towards non-white populations.”

Stratton pressed a key, and a slightly different territory distribution popped up. Red Baron’s territory lost a chunk to its west, while Killshot was restricted further east, as well. Then Stratton re-visited the map from before, allowing the members of the room to draw a direct comparison. “As you can see here, their strategy was quite successful. Due to the success of this night, several smaller gangs, generally led by non-Parahumans and often comprised tragically young people, were either destroyed or subsumed by the Baron or Killshot. The Baron mostly focused on pushing Sandstorm out, while Killshot attempted to expand into the safer neighborhoods as well. We’re not entirely certain what his strategy was, although it could be possible he was attempting to carve a bloody path to the nearest police station, located here.”

Given the trajectory of Killshot’s gang, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.

“Due to their high civilian casualties and their obvious disregard for life, we will be treating the two combined gangs as an A-class threat,” Stratton said. Gone was the jovial man, now. “We will no longer play easy with them. The only problem is that despite their, frankly, simplistic powers, the Baron has proved annoyingly resilient. If this weren’t the case, then my predecessor would have surely evicted the Red Baron years ago during the October 15th Massacre.”

James politely pretended not to notice the way Alloy gave a low growl from his throat. The others did the same.

“Part of his stubbornness was because of his ability to appeal to the public living in his territory. The territory he controls - mainly Queanbeyan, Fyshwick, and other Eastern suburbs - have slightly higher proportions of white Australians and, even with immigrants, white immigrants from Britian, Ireland, and Germany. We have yet to determine if the Baron has ties to Gesellschaft or if he is simply a man of opportunity, but the Baron preaches white supremacist rhetoric to sway the more… extreme residents to his cause. We’re hoping that his recent, indiscriminate attacks may have soured the public’s opinion of him, but knowing our luck, it probably means that the more radical ones are now _firmly_ in the Baron’s camp.”

He paused, and took a sip from a bottle of water. Liv shuffled anxiously beside James, and James brushed his hand against her arm. She glanced in his direction and gave a faint smile. James smiled back, not that it was visible under his helmet.

“In any case, Parahuman Law Enforcement will be removing the kiddie gloves and we will come down on them, _hard_. We will be prioritizing the neutralization of the Parahuman threat Red Baron, as we suspect that the majority of Killshot’s gang are the Baron’s men acting under Killshot’s orders, and will be loyal to the Baron first and Killshot second. Un-powered police officers will be in charge of keeping the peace in North Canberra, and whomever else can be spared will be assisting PLE in the attempted capture of Red Baron.”

Stratton turned to look at each of them in the eyes.

“There is no room for mistake. It is exceedingly likely that Red Baron and Killshot both, from what we know of their previous patterns, will fight like cornered rats, which is what they are. They will become exceedingly violent, they will not hesitate to kill you and civilians if they see a way out. If, at any point, you find that your life may be in danger, you have been granted Kill Order-status.”

The air of the room tightened. James stiffened. This might very well be the first Kill Order in Canberra, maybe even in all of New South Wales. Even Wisp’s discomfort was visible through all of her clothing, and the new teen had his mouth set in a tight line. Duke wore a neutral expression, a side-effect of his total motor control, and James briefly wondered what he was thinking.

“Now, you are both familiar with the two major Parahumans. Let’s move onto discussing their newest lieutenants.” Stratton hit a key, and the next slide appeared. “The first is a Parahuman we are calling Firestorm. This is undoubtedly one of the most powerful Blasters we’ve encountered; we’ve given them a rating of Shaker/Blaster Seven. Any operative without a Brute rating is _not_ cleared to engage with this individual. In short, Firestorm’s powers are an explosive generation of flame, followed shortly after by a shockwave. The range fluctuates, from what we’ve seen so far, between a minimum six meters to maximum nineteen meters radius, although it’s entirely possible it could reach further. The explosions are powerful enough to give severe structural damage to ordinary residential buildings at close range. Even towards the edge of the explosions, without valid protection you may experience disorientation, concussion, first-degree and second-degree burns, and internal bleeding.”

He switched the slide. “The next one, whom we are calling Spores. A Shaker/Master four capable of sprouting their body parts on surfaces, such as the ground, walls, or ceilings of buildings. Range is unknown, was first encountered by Alloy last night. They primarily used arms and hands to hold down enemy fighters, while they also displayed an awareness of conversation and location, which suggests Thinker abilities, or they are able to generate eyes and ears from surfaces. The disembodied body parts apparently do not feel pain.”

Stratton looked at the two of them. “It will be undoubtedly difficult, and casualties may be unavoidable. However, you are law enforcement officers with access to the best equipment and the best training. Not to mention each of you, in your own rights, are capable of incredible things. Keep calm, and do not hesitate to retreat if you feel it is necessary to the wellbeing of yourself or your team members. While Killshot and Spores may not be present, after a while they may join in as reinforcement. Also be aware of Sandstorm possibly entering the fray - while we expect him not to intentionally harm you, we also expect he will be apathetic if you get caught in his crossfire. Sandstorm is arguably the most powerful Parahuman in Canberra; do not risk your life trying to help him.”

Stratton looked at all of them, then nodded. “Good. The team captains are Alloy and Steadfast, both of whom have the most experience as law enforcement personnel. One team will be dedicated to the capture and retrieval of Firestorm, while the other team will be dedicated to the capture and retrieval of Red Baron. Un-powered police officers are capable of assisting; they will cover your flank against un-powered gang members, arrest downed gang members, and will also provide retreat options and medical support. I will be on console and coordinating between you and the police. Captain Proudfoot, you’re with Alloy; Captain Singh, you’re with Steadfast.”

Stratton left the room, and the two captains moved to either side of their assigned team leaders. Steadfast and Alloy nodded at each other. Alloy, as the longest-serving Parahuman Law Enforcement officer, took center stage.

“Juggernaut, you’re with me,” Alloy said. James blinked; the young man standing beside Steadfast was the criminal he’d captured a couple of weeks ago? Maybe there was some credit to Steadfast and Juggernaut’s cluster trigger theory. “Wisp, Synthesis, you’re also with me.”

Wisp stood and joined the Tinker, as did the new kid - Liv was watching the latter in mild surprise. Meanwhile, Steadfast looked at the rest of them, nodding at each. “Duke. Mirror Man. Blink. Slipstick.” She took a breath. “Our target is the Red Baron. While not as immediately dangerous as Firestorm, he has not survived for so long without reason. He is cunning, ruthless, and is surprisingly good at laying low when the need demands it. Apart from myself, none of you have Brute ratings beyond what your armor gives you, and you will almost certainly find it difficult to fight the enemy without risk of significant injury or death.”

“Pleasant,” Duke muttered, and Steadfast ignored him.

“Most of you will be relegated to taking down Baron’s support network. The Baron himself also doesn’t have a Brute rating, so he cannot propel himself without injury. This means that if you are capable of quickly dispatching the man’s un-powered support network, he will find himself stranded. We will eventually capture him, either after a long battle of attrition and a lot of collateral damage, or if Team Alpha - that’s Alloy’s team - manage to take down Firestorm quickly and come to our aid.”

“What is this new kid’s power?” James asked, and Steadfast thinned her lips.

“It’s technically classified, but considering the circumstances, it would be best for you to know. You will not repeat a word of what I said to _anyone_.” James nodded in agreement. “Synthesis is a Trump. He is capable of copying someone’s power for thirty-three minutes via skin contact. He can copy multiple powers and merge them into one, at the cost of cutting the time limit to one-third of what it was.”

James whistled. “Damn. That’s really strong.”

“Indeed. Which is why he is being mobilized before schedule.” Steadfast didn’t seem happy about it. “He is lacking training, both self-defense training, power training, and coordination with other combatants. I wish it didn’t need to happen, but the Heat have far too few Brutes capable of withstanding the city’s criminal elements as it is.”

“So what’s our plan?” Duke asked. “Do we have one, yet?”

“The battlefield is constantly shifting, which is frustrating,” Steadfast said. “But most likely the battlefield will consist of multiple small skirmishes. Right now, the police, Baron’s gang, and what few there are of Sandstorm’s gang are in an uneasy ceasefire, tending to their wounded and making plans. Neither the Baron nor Sandstorm has made an appearance, although Red Baron was observed leading his men. We will remain hidden until the Baron himself appears, even if Firestorm shows up first. Likewise, if the Baron appears but Firestorm doesn’t, Team Alpha will remain hidden to give the illusion that we do not have reinforcements.”

Steadfast looked at them. “I will be the one to directly fight against the Baron. I am able to withstand the majority of his attacks, while you cannot. You will split into teams; Duke with Blink, Mirror with Slipstick. You will coordinate together to immobilize un-powered members, preferably the senior members, of the Baron’s gang. We will continue communicating as we fight, and I will do my best to draw the Baron away from both your groups. We don’t need to defeat the Baron - just outlast him and his gang. The cost will be high, but I’m sure all of you knew that already.”

James nodded, alongside the others.

“Very well. Then let’s gear up. Follow me to the armory.”

Steadfast whirled around and marched out of the room. James didn’t like Steadfast much, but watching her retreating back, he felt a little of his nervousness fade away. She really did give off an air of indestructibility, and in this moment, he appreciated that.

It was time to go to war.


	7. War

James felt rather out of place. 

He was in Team Sierra, with Steadfast, and the armored personnel carrier was apparently waiting at a set of lights. All the heroes around him - Synthesis excluded - had busted out their ‘riot police’ costumes instead of their usual costumes. Even Steadfast, whose brute rating usually meant she didn’t need excessive protection.

Beside him, Liv - Blink - had foregone her usual visor for a full-face helmet, and it looked pretty cool despite the bulkiness of it. Probably something that Alloy had whipped up, it looked sleek and futuristic. Intimidating, but still undeniably heroic. On top of her usual armored costume, she got plates made of interlocking metallic-blue hexagonal plates.

All of this made James feel a little inadequate with his generic Kevlar vest and SWAT trooper tactical helmet.

After all, it wasn’t just Liv. James was probably seriously underestimating the value of an alloys Tinker - all the Heat heroes seemed to have impressive armor that looked like it could shrug off an RPG with no problem. The alloys themselves apparently didn’t need Tinker maintenance, which made sense, just the gigantic industrial fabricators that Alloy used to make them. Which meant that Alloy’s products could be used to outfit non-Tinker heroes, even from other cities.

Steadfast sat so still that if it weren’t for the lack of glow indicative of her power, James would’ve thought her frozen in time. Duke himself was also frozen, with zero tells. Mirror Man was apparently mirroring Duke, because he was also completely frozen. James felt further out of place as he failed to contain his fidgeting.

He glanced at Synthesis again. The kid, Matt, had an incredible power. This was also supposed to be his first outing. Apparently touching Steadfast and Duke would make him a knockoff Alexandria - no super-strength, since neither Duke nor Steadfast had superhuman strength, but flight and invulnerability were still there. 

James wondered what kind of powers his could be combined with. Duke, maybe? But Duke’s power would increase anyone’s through general improvement, so it didn’t really count. 

“We’re four minutes until we’re in position,” the speaker said.

Steadfast grunted. “Thank you, Captain.”

James studied her. The woman had been a hero for about seven years now, the first four years spent in Brisbane and the last three years in Canberra. If not for her limitations, she had an incredibly useful power. A Breaker ability, which had a sub-rating of Brute 8; so far, only physics-breaking abilities could move her out of her position when she was frozen. She was a veteran of eight Endbringer fights, either Behemoth or Leviathan, and usually used herself as an unbreakable blast shield or an immovable breakwater. 

“Steadfast?” James asked, and the heroine looked at him. “Didn’t you once hold Leviathan in a headlock?”

Everyone turned their heads to look at Steadfast. 

“Just the once.”

“That’s so cool,” Synthesis muttered under his breath. Steadfast’s lips twitched ever so slightly. James could only agree. 

“In every fight after that, it avoids getting close to me. And I can’t fly so fast that I can keep up with it,” Steadfast said. “I can’t approach Behemoth, either. I’d be stuck flying ten meters away from him.”

“Who else has been to an Endbringer fight?” Blink asked, and Duke raised his hand. 

“January 5th, 2008. Anchorage, Alaska.”

Behemoth.

“Just search and rescue, though. As much as I wish I could, my powers won’t let me punch out an Endbringer.” Duke shrugged. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve won thousands of dollars winning pool in bars, so that’s a consolation prize, I guess.”

“ _ …are you saying you used your Parahuman powers to scam money off of people? _ ” Juggernaut asked, sounding amused, from the radio.

Duke glanced at Steadfast, who was frowning. “Uh, no? I… just happen to be very good at pool.”

“Seems like powers that we generally consider to be weaker can actually be more useful in day-to-day life,” James said idly. “Mine’s not great, but it’s useful when I want to wear my Timberlands without struggling to put it on for like five minutes.”

“ _ If I sit next to the smart kids during a test I can see their answers without looking at their paper, _ ” Wisp’s voice crackled, and Duke smirked. 

“ _ Did you really just say that in front of my sister? She’s probably going to report you, you know _ ,” Juggernaut said.

“ _ That is, I  _ could _ do that, but I  _ don’t _. Mostly I use my powers to erase the bags under my eyes directly caused by all those reports that I have to re-write because Blink sucks at writing. _ ”

“They’re not that bad,” Liv protested. “Just because you insist on the font being Times New Roman and size ten and using a thesaurus all the time…”

“ _ You keep telling yourself that. You Neanderthal _ .”

“ _ You know what I can do on an everyday basis with my powers? _ ” Alloy said proudly. “ _ I can pretend to be fuguing when Steadfast’s speech goes on for too long and she won’t interrupt me because she thinks I’m working hard on the job _ .”

“You can’t be serious,” Duke laughed.

“ _ I’m dead serious. Oh, hey, Steadfast, I didn’t know you were listening in! _ ”

Mirror Man snorted as Steadfast crossed her arms. 

“ _ If only Steadfast lets me wear my visor like Stratton does, _ ” Alloy said. “ _ You know, when I was stationed in Sydney I used to work with a Tinker called Algorithm. He used to play Tetris on HUD so much during meetings that he ended up being the state Tetris champion. Personally I prefer Snake _ .”

“Did you ever build a gaming PC?” Synthesis asked.

“ _ Uh, yeah? Computational power is pretty important when you want to Tinker up more advanced stuff, so most of us can bend our specialties a bit to produce decent computers. Adapting the games to be able to run on the OS is a bit more tricky though. Algorithm, whom I just mentioned, is pretty good with computers, as you’d expect from the name. He’s also a huge nerd. His gaming room looks like you stepped inside a submarine, with all these humming devices sitting around you and a single gigantic monitor. It’s funny though, he’s still rubbish at anything not Tetris _ .”

They ended up sitting in that van for much, much longer. The sun had already risen at this point. To think this hullabaloo had started up at midnight when Alloy was engaged and injured by Killshot - they had been at the meeting about four hours ago, now. James lamented his ability to perform a jaw-cracking yawn inside his stormtrooper helmet. The assembled heroes had taken turns to stand up in the cramped van to try and stretch their legs. James was pretty sure he heard Liv’s stomach rumble.

Liv was clearly blushing, even though he couldn’t see her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled, even as a few others gave amused snorts.

“Captain Singh?” Steadfast asked. “Do the officers have any leftovers?”

“Don’t think so,” Singh said. “I can ask someone to buy something from the cafe down the street, though.”

“That would be greatly appreciated, thank you.”

Five minutes later a cop had knocked on the back of the van, and after confirming it was indeed a legitimate police officer, the heroes were treated to still-warm croissants, pies, donuts, and cookies. Steadfast removed her helmet to eat, and James realized he had seen her face, and froze. Liv noticed, and held a hand out just before Duke made to remove it.

“Uh,” James said awkwardly. “Are you guys okay with…?”

Steadfast thinned her lips. “Too late now,” she replied. 

“Sorry. Here, as a show of trust,” James said, removing his full-face tactical helmet with some difficulty. “I’m James.”

“Call me Mags,” Steadfast said.

One by one, the heroes removed their masks, revealing their faces. Most of them were quite plain, including the mighty Steadfast herself, but all appeared to be decent people. Well, except Duke - James frankly had no idea what he was thinking, due to the man’s perfect motor control. “Arthur,” Duke said.

“Peter,” Mirror Man said, revealing a rather androgynous face; a corner of James’ mind noticed the way Duke pointedly looked away, but dismissed it as relatively unimportant. Matt, while only fourteen years old, had a more mature face in contrast and a slightly mischievous smile. Liv was beautiful as ever. 

“Well…  _ bon appetit _ , I guess?” Matt shrugged, and began to eat. As if on cue, the heroes began stuffing themselves, and Duke in particular downed his quadruple shot of espresso in about three seconds. Holy shit, that couldn’t be healthy.

“I really needed this,” Duke said, his voice muffled. “I am so fucking hungry.”

James finished his meal and wiped his mouth on a napkin the trooper had gotten him. His bacon-and-egg pie wasn’t bad at all, especially since it was still hot from the oven. Liv snapped her chocolate-chip cookie in half and handed the bigger portion to him; his heart soared as he smiled and took it.

“So, uh, Liv,” Matt said. “This your boyfriend?”

James paused, as did Liv. “…yes?” Liv finally said. 

“Wow. Good job, dude,” Matt said, looking at James. “Do you know how many creeps in and out of Canberra have been lusting after her?”

Liv blushed, even as Steadfast’s lips thinned and Mirror Man shook his head. James shuffled awkwardly, not sure how to respond to that. He finally settled on, “thanks?”

“Speaking of. Do you think Wisp’s cute under all that?” Matt asked conspiratorially, grinning at James.

“ _ I can hear you, you know. And no, I look like a goblin _ .”

“What! No!” Liv exclaimed. “You  _ are _ really cute, Wisp.”

“You’ve actually seen her?”

“Like a year after I made friends with her, yeah,” Liv said.

“ _ I value my privacy, okay. Also I’m like, the palest person ever. I’m basically a vampire. _ ”

“Just wear sunscreen.”

“ _ Tell that to my bottle of SPF150. Bitch. _ ”

“That kind of thing actually exists?” Matt said, amused.

“ _ Hold on _ ,” Alloy interrupted. “ _ I think that’s Red Baron. _ ”

James tensed, as did everyone else, the atmosphere returning from its relative warmth back to cold tension. He and others pulled their helmets back on again, waiting for the order to come. It didn’t. Mirror Man’s grip tightened against the edge of his seat, while Matt stared at the laces of his boots. Steadfast was looking at the door at the back of the truck. After a moment, Commander Kelly’s voice crackled from their radios.

“ _ Console to Charlie-Bravo-Sierra, commence radio check. _ ”

“Received,” Steadfast said.

“ _ He’s giving some sort of supremacist speech _ ,” Alloy said. “ _ Console? _ ”

“ _ One-twelve, one-thirteen, one-fourteen will coordinate with Sierra to engage with Red Baron. One-fifteen and one-eighteen will remain hidden until the first four are at risk of being flanked. Operations begin in ten seconds. _ ”

James stiffened. Matt tagged Steadfast and Duke; he wouldn’t be part of the fight against Red Baron, but he would need their powers should Firestorm show up. Blink and Steadfast, the fastest of their group, were next to the doors, the first out of the armored truck. Then himself, and Mirror Man, and Duke.

“ _ Five seconds _ .”

James rubbed his hands together, feeling the unnaturally strong friction warm his hands up through his gloves. Steadfast slowly and quietly unlatched the doors, and her and Blink pressed themselves against them, ready to throw them open.

“ _...two, one. Go _ .”

Steadfast threw the door open and rocketed into the air; Blink disappeared in a flash of electric-blue light. James dialed up the bottom of his boots to  _ six hundred _ and leaped out of the vehicle. Duke and Mirror Man made similarly graceful exits, splitting up to either side. Approximately eighty meters from his position was Baron’s gang, pressed between two large brick buildings. Approximately half of the Parahuman criminal’s forces - about two hundred or so - were barricading themselves within the two buildings due to police pushing back, and forming a fallback line for the remaining half of the gang members who were a kilometer or so to the west, struggling against Sandstorm’s group.

Forty meters to contact. Only about a tenth of the gang carried firearms, and they were held in reserve, unwilling to risk the police - with better gear and training - escalating in response. Most carried melee weapons. Cricket bats, crowbars, knives, even a few swords. Upturned dumpsters provided shelter for the first line of enemy defense, and creating select few gaps through which invading police forces and the like could go through; this was likely their aim, to bottleneck anyone attempting to come in, while those barricaded in the two buildings took potshots from the windows.

The buildings themselves were sturdy, twin apartment blocks that had since degraded into a mess of boarded-up windows and gang tags. At the same time, it seemed to have plenty of escape routes for the gang members within - easy enough to get out of, though not as easy to get in, not even for the two heroic Movers, Blink (who required line-of-sight) and Steadfast (who couldn’t walk through walls like Alexandria herself).

Twenty meters to contact.

Minute adjustments of friction on his body allowed James to dodge projectiles thrown at him, or sometimes fired; his body itself was constantly off-balance, with his center of gravity hovering erratically, but the friction kept him on his feet long enough to take another step. By keeping himself off-balance, James had found, he was able to change direction much more easily, without losing speed, and he had no fear of stumbling in a crucial moment as he did so.

James saw tear gas canisters streaking towards the crowd of gang members, hissing and violently releasing its contents as it shattered nearby the buildings. The gang members were relatively well-organized for a group of common thugs, as they quickly entered the surrounding buildings without trampling each other; they had likely foreseen such an event, because many pulled out respirators and put them on, while also throwing small buckets of water onto the tear gas canisters.

As he approached the crowd, who saw him and were preparing to meet him with a mishmash of nasty-looking weapons, he saw Blink catch Steadfast in mid-air and teleport the latter immediately behind Red Baron. The former blinked out of existence as Red Baron turned, who managed to backhand Steadfast with an armored glove as he turned; Steadfast chose to shield herself with her power, which was a wise move, because Baron’s arm was moving faster than it should’ve been possible, and smashed violently against Steadfast’s immobile face. Unfortunately, this moment of being frozen gave enough time for Baron to jump back, and for his men to close in against the heroine. She managed to knee one in the gut hard enough that he was tossed into the air, before she took flight to avoid the crowbars and machetes being swung her way.

James looked back at his target. Rubber bullets were doing a good job ot dispelling the gang members from concentrated regions, giving him and the other heroes breathing room. As Duke expertly dodged a tomahawk and smashed into the line of defense, James applied  _ eight hundred _ to the edges of the soles of his feet and ran up the brick wall of the left building, dodging a flailing man with a cricket bat. He landed and ducked another swinging bat, which smashed against the brick wall with a dull sound; James tackled the first man out from under his feet, aiming his armored shoulder against his solar plexus. The man wheezed as he was thrown out of the now-loose formation of the gang members. Without looking, James dodged to the side, avoiding the second man with the cricket bat; James reduced the friction in the man’s grip to  _ zero _ , and the bat slid out from his arms with the momentum of his swing, sent flying beyond the barricades. The weight of his weapon suddenly gone, the man accidentally stumbled and fell; as amusing as it was, it served better opportunity as a distraction. In the moment it took for the man to recover, James had readied himself for a kick to the guy’s nuts.

He went down, groaning.

James managed to dodge out the way of a crowbar, only to be struck in the side with an aluminium softball bat. It hurt. He allowed the soles of his shoes and his fingertips to reduce to  _ one _ , which helped bleed some of the kinetic energy by making him slide away for a few meters until he returned to normal, his back pressing up against one of the overturned dumpsters. As bat-guy and his mates closed in, James went for the rightmost target, the furthest from the building, and opted for a right jab to the face. Encumbered by a sledgehammer, the man had no choice but to tank it; he was big, but he was no Brute, and the gloves that the police had lent him had some rather hard pieces. He stumbled back, dazed, and James went for another quick punch. He was sent off-balance by another man who had decided to abandon their own cricket bat in favor for their fists, and tackled him. James allowed himself to fall, trusting the precise control of his power to leave him (mostly) unhurt.

As the guys closed in, James stood back up. The guy with the sledgehammer swung at James - and wasn’t that a terrifying view if James didn’t know he’d be fine - and he reduced the man’s feet to  _ zero _ ; the thug pirouetted on the spot as he lost grip, then tumbled painfully as his legs slid out from under him. Meanwhile, the guy with his fists stepped forward to throw a punch, and that was his mistake. He lost his footing, as if stepping on ice or on a banana peel, and landed on the concrete jaw-first with a resounding  _ crack _ .

James increased the grip on his fingertips to  _ six hundred _ and hoisted himself onto one of the dumpsters, giving himself a moment to assess the situation. Mirror Man and Duke were working in tandem, clearing the front of the right apartment building quite efficiently, and creating space for un-powered police to rush in and drag the thugs from the area. His own side… it was still quite full. Assuming he, Mirror Man, and Duke split their workload into thirds, he still had about fifteen thugs to deal with on his own, only four - no, three, sledgehammer guy just got up - of which he’d taken down so far. James was snapped out of his reverie when someone threw a fist-sized rock at him, and he was made to dodge.

He hopped down from the dumpster, moving to a more open space. Someone grasped his shoulder, and James flinched; it was thankfully Mirror Man, who had come to his aid. He nodded gratefully, which Mirror Man did not return, focused instead on the thugs who were a little more wary of facing two capes instead of one. With an unexpected burst of speed, Mirror Man dashed forward. The thugs clearly weren’t expecting it, either; the fairly short, willowy man clearly packed an immense punch, judging by how one of the gang members, at least six feet in height and weighing twice as much as Mirror Man himself, went flying back into his friends. 

James blinked, even as he increased the grip on his toes and ran to help. He was more of a Jackie Chan fan than a Bruce Lee fan, but that looked similar to Bruce Lee’s stuff. Now that he noticed the similarities, the so-called ‘Strongest Pre-Scion Human’ wasn’t that tall or heavily muscled, either, just like Mirror Man.

Using the breathing space he’d created, Mirror Man spun on his heel to launch a devastating roundhouse kick to a man who had unfortunately been too close; a crack, and Mirror Man’s ankle connected to the man’s temple, and he fell like a puppet with cut strings. James tackled the guy who had thrown away his weapon earlier, who had attempted to circle Mirror Man; careful applications of friction stopped the larger and heavier guy from getting a grip on him, while James had all the grip that he needed. He kicked out the man’s legs out from under him and finished up with a kick to the temple. 

He took a deep breath and tried to blink away the sweat that was threatening to run into his eyes. He charged at Mirror Man, who was attempting to fend off three armed men at once - and he would not last, being baseline human - and James lowered the friction on his entire body to  _ zero _ , and he began sliding across the ground, pushing himself forward with his hands like he was on a wheelchair.

Then he reduced the three assailants’ soles to  _ zero _ , and he crashed right through them, like a bowling ball. They all scattered like pins, and James let out a laugh. It was always hilarious to inflict that humiliation on someone.

“... _ o kurwa _ ,” he heard Mirror Man say.

James stood up, dusting himself off, as Mirror Man, to his credit, wasn’t surprised long by James’ entrance. As the rest of the thugs ran back inside the buildings and settled for throwing heavy objects on top of them instead, he and Mirror Man dragged their unfortunate victims back behind the barriers to zip-tie them. 

“Not bad, kids,” Duke said, leaning on one dumpster with his arms crossed. He had…  _ sixteen _ people all tied up, most unconscious and sporting a few nasty injuries. Which, they wholly deserved, in James’ opinion. Sixteen takedowns in a few minutes by one person was impressive. That appeared to be more than James and Mirror Man combined. “Still got a long way to go, though.”

Mirror Man grunted. Duke casually caught a firecracker thrown his way and tossed it back through the window it came from with uncanny aim. They and the police officers began dragging the gang members back to the armored vans, where they would be transported away to hopefully somewhere they wouldn’t be able to cause too much trouble. 

“Red Baron?” James asked.

Duke grunted, irritation leaking through. “Didn’t catch him, wily bastard. He’d arranged a nice escape route, it seems, and he outran Steadfast on his fucking rocket car.”

“So what? We failed?”

“Guess so,” Duke said. “Fucking Steadfast.”

Fucking Steadfast floated down from the sky and landed in front of them. She looked about as happy as Duke sounded. “Red Baron escaped,” she said with a slight snarl. “I apologize. I have let you down in this mission.” Nobody reacted to that, except Duke, who audibly grunted in agreement. James politely ignored that, as did Steadfast, but Mirror Man glanced in Duke’s direction, probably glaring. “We can’t risk sending out police helicopters because frankly, Baron’s power is too suitable to shooting them down. We have a general idea of where he’s hiding, but nothing precise.”

“Fucking wonderful,” Duke said, his tone forced back into neutrality.

Blink appeared next to James. What little of her face was visible seemed frustrated. 

“How many did you grab?” Duke asked her.

She pursed her lips. “Two.”

“You can do better than that,” Duke said. The tone was infuriatingly neutral, just like it was whenever Duke didn’t bother turning off his perfect motor control, but James bristled on Liv’s behalf anyway. “Even your boyfriend took down, what, seven?” James didn’t bother answering that, and intentionally turned away. Duke snorted, expression unknown, but likely in amusement.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Steadfast burst out suddenly, that all of them flinched, except for Duke; he quickly turned to face Steadfast, though. “I almost had the cunt this time,” she continued viciously.

“There’s always next time, boss. Because, you know, Baron loves humiliating us,” Duke said.

Steadfast didn’t acknowledge that, and opted instead to take a deep breath. “Apologies,” she murmured.

“So what now?” Blink asked.

Steadfast sighed out her nose. “Console will form a plan to storm the apartment buildings. Once that is done, we will help them capture as many of these scum as we can.” Duke snorted softly when Steadfast used the word ‘capture’. “Until then? We’re waiting.”

“Lovely,” Duke said. “I’m going to go find some coffee.”

“Just think of it as a siege against a fortified castle,” Blink said, patting James’ arm when she saw his expression. “Except a lot less glamorous.”

Their radios crackled suddenly; an explosion shattered glass, and James felt heat wash over his face. Steadfast jumped in front of them as they cringed away from the debris, flaring in kaleidoscopic light; Olivia clutched James’ arm tightly.

He turned, seeing a howling pillar of fire, slowly approaching the heroes as if they had all the time in the world.


End file.
